Heart Cancer
by hazelmom
Summary: What do you do when you're losing your best friend and there's no way to stop it? HouseWilson friendship. Don't know that there will be any romantic pairings. Final Chapter up!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: So I have a little thing for Wilson. I know he's the sidekick, but he has a darkness to him that I hope they develop further. I mean, who can explain the three wives thing to me? So I am going to give this a shot between homework assignments. I hope to keep it less grandiose than some of my previous fictions. It is my first House fic, and so I will do my best to capture the characters, and as for the medical stuff, I will do the best I can, but I am not doing any extensive research. Please let me know if it gets glaringly obvious; the emphasis being on glaringly. Anyway, I hope to hear from you regarding any and all feedback you may have.

Sheila

**Heart Cancer**

**Chapter 1**

For a few minutes, he was able to lose himself in the oncologist's presentation. The doctor had started out rather vague, explaining circle around the central issues. Just when he had gotten to a point of frustration, the doctor settled into some actual findings. He carefully explained the procedures and the findings, and then abruptly seem to remember his audience. He quickly switched to a much more bare bones presentation of the case.

The oncologist posted CT scan results on the wall and began pointing out ghostly images on the film. The man stopped listening to the doctor and focused on the images himself. They spoke a language that he knew intimately, and he was not interested in the doctor's interpretation. This was a picture of his head, one he hadn't seen before, and he momentarily lost himself in its various features. At some point he took in a sharp breath and the oncologist stopped and waited, but the man merely shook his head and looked away.

So the doctor sighed and continued. The man became acutely aware of the cruel joke that life could be, and he had to stop himself from snorting out loud. Instead, he settled himself by roughing rubbing his stubbly chin. The oncologist stopped talking and looked at him again. The man noticed that this was the only time the doctor looked at him. The man waited for him to continue until he realized that the doctor was waiting for some sort of response.

He let out a heavy breath and spoke, "I'm sorry. I've lost track. You were asking me something."

The doctor nodded, "This is a lot to take in. Maybe you need a break, some time to absorb all this."

The man chuckled, "The headaches were obvious. I can't believe I ignored them."

"You have a history of migraines. I'm sure it never occurred for you to differentiate them. Believe me, this was not an easy catch. It was hiding well. We probably wouldn't have found it today if not for the seizures."

The man looked away for a moment. That wasn't true. There was no way they would have missed the tumor if they had done a CT four weeks ago when he had finally noticed how the headaches differed, but being the pain in the ass that he knew himself to be, he needed to wait until he blacked out and had a seizure outside a Walgreen's drugstore, waking up minutes later to find two overweight Hispanic women staring down at him and an ambulance blaring in the background. At least, he had the presence of mind to tell the paramedics to take him anywhere but Plainsboro.

"The biopsy results are conclusive. No reasoning my way out of this now, is there?" The man forced a chuckle.

The oncologist didn't even fake a grin. "I recommend we start on an aggressive course of chemo."

The man's expressive eyebrows rose, "Looks to me like immediate surgery is indicated."

The oncologist shook his head, "That's your emotions talking. Think about it. We need to dose it good to really see what we're dealing with. This picture doesn't tell us enough. We need to see what it looks like in two weeks after we throw all our big guns at it. If you were thinking clearly, you would be saying the same thing."

The man nodded reluctantly. It was true. Chemo first, then look at its size in a couple of weeks. Best course of action; hands down. He could see that, but he could also feel his hands grow clammy at the thought of chemotherapy. He watched people for years suffer through its effects, and now the hens had come to roost. He would know first hand what the sunken eyes, overwhelming nausea, and crushing muscle weakness could do to a healthy man.

"I need to think. Take a couple of days. Need to consider my options." The words came in desperate bursts.

The oncologist sat up straight. "I wouldn't recommend it. You'll get overwhelmed. Everyone does. You know that. I'd feel better if we had your first clinic appointment in the books."

The man was on his feet and glad to find them still sturdy and strong. "I'm sorry. I need to clear my head. I won't be stupid."

"Let's get a hold of a colleague. Nothing clears the head like a second opinion. Who do you want? I have Smith, Varma, and Cho in the house right now. I can have anyone of them here in five minutes. Or Plainsboro? Let's call someone. How about your friend? I hear he's excellent."

The man shook his head emphatically and held up a hand, "I gotta do this my way. You know that. I'm not your regular patient, okay? Let's schedule a course for Monday. I'll call you in the next couple of days to confirm. Scout's honor."

The doctor nodded. "I am available, night or day. You have my cell, my office and my home phone. We're not going to play dead on this thing. Do you understand? We're going back to school for this. I promise that you will have all resources at your disposal. Hell, we'll call people. Send some plane tickets for Swanson and his team doing research at Berkeley. We'll turn this thing into a case study in proactive treatments."

The man smiled, "I know that. And I'm grateful. You'll hear from me Friday at the latest. I promise." He moved as fast as he dared, getting out of there without having to weather any physical contact or further sympathy. As he stood in the elevator, heart pounding in his ears, he looked down at the appointment card from the office of Dr. Vaughn Sloan. His own cards were better; bolder raised type on moss green linen card stock. Under the patient's name, he noted that the nurse wrote his name without his title in front. He frowned. He had worked too long and hard for that title. Taking a pen out of his breast pocket, he leaned the card against the wall, and scrawled Dr. on the card. The card looked angry now with a large title and then his name in flowery print, but at least it reflected who he was: Dr. James Wilson.

……………………………………………………………………………………..

"Chase, what do you look like a schoolgirl today?" House didn't even bother with a greeting. Despite being a man with a cane, he could swoop into a room suddenly and without warning.

Around House, Chase always tempered his reactions. He knew the man waited for the response so he could pounce on it and chew it up like a dog with a ball. He took a deep breath. A haircut was all that was different about him. The stylist was a looker, and he was so absorbed in chatting her up that he unwittingly let her blow dry his thick hair. He now felt like an Australian version of Mary Tyler Moore. Before House had caught him, he'd been frantically looking for a comb to dip in water and plaster the hair back against his scalp.

"You know Chase, what with that the flowers in your tie and your peaches and cream coloring, I think you should go for lavender eye shadows; maybe something from Loreal?" House had circled his desk and settled in, swinging his long legs onto his desk, and wresting his game boy out of his breast pocket.

Chase threw his head back and took a deep breath, "Another day with no patients, huh? Would you like me to run any errands, maybe pick up some dry cleaning for you?'

House raised an eyebrow and looked at him, "Uh, thanks for the offer, but that's what Cameron is for, you know."

Chase never seemed to imbue his responses with much zing. House always seemed to take his lob and slam into the inside corner.

Foreman and Cameron came in, white lab coats flapping, and Chase was grateful for the interruption.

"Nice hair," Cameron cooed, unable to hide grin creeping onto her delicate features.

Foreman raised his eyebrows, but couldn't seem to pinpoint the difference in Chase's appearance.

"Cameron," said House, "Chase wants you to pick up my dry cleaning today. Do you have time?"

Cameron deftly ignored him, opening the file in her hands. Chase noticed that she had been doing that a lot lately and was surprised to find that it shut House down completely. The man needed interaction in order to play his games and Cameron was cutting him off.

"33 year old female presenting with stiff, swollen joints and fatigue. She has a history of fevers over the last six months and a persistent dry cough. Her lungs are clear, but her chest x-rays show some scarring although no signs of tumors or lesions." Cameron rattled off the information without preamble.

House rolled his eyes, "Boring.'

'Well, not for her, it isn't," Foreman countered. "The cough is so intense, she's pulled muscles in her chest. She can barely sit up."

"She has chronic bronchitis. Get her some antibiotics." House started manipulating buttons on his game boy.

His staff stood silently, patiently watching him cycle through his avoidance strategies. Finally, House sighed and put the game boy on the table. "Tell me something interesting."

"She just got back from a year in the Peace Corps: Ecuador, South America." Cameron said.

House sat up, a gleam in his eye. "Tropical! I love tropical diseases. Why didn't you say something in the beginning? Don't just stand there! We need blood work. Foreman, trot those chest films out. And I want Wilson. Nobody reads a chest film better than he does. "

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Wilson ignored the first two pages from House's staff. He sat, holed up alone in his office, avoiding all human contact. He stared out the window on the barren, wet landscape of an early November day. A highway overpass was the highlight of this scenery, and he wondered why he had ever chosen to settle with such a pedestrian existence. Why had he chosen this life that, while professionally satisfying, left him emotionally and spiritually empty? He worked 70 hour work weeks and then weekends he would hide in his den watching sports and reading medical journals. His social existence consisted primarily of infrequent encounters with his frustrated spouse, a weekly call to his parents, occasional board dinners, and the odd baseball game with House.

Sometimes on Sundays, when Julie was otherwise occupied, he would return to the hospital and roam the hallways, checking charts and looking in on patients; this being the one place where he felt useful and fulfilled.

He had never been angry or depressed like House. Rather he was gifted with affability and a calm demeanor. It was his lot to be insufferably nice and patient with people around him. It was the perfect temperament for a doctor. Couple that with his gargantuan intelligence, and he had become one of the most sought after oncologists in the country. Unlike most people, he had truly found his calling, and it was one of the only things that gave him comfort.

His pager lit up again, and he hit the message button. An annoyed House sounded, "Wilson! I've had you paged twice. You know I hate it when you ignore me. What's the problem? Tough case? Or are you still mad that I told the oncology nurses that you had crabs? It was a joke! Besides, you said that you were feeling guilty about flirting and I thought it would give you a little breather from all the swooning they're always doing around you. It is not my fault that the rumor spread all over the hospital. Just tell a couple of them that you've been treated, and your matinee idol status should be restored within the next couple months. Listen, really James, I need a consult. I got chest films here that look like a black and white print of Fantasia before restoration. I can't make heads or tails of it."

Wilson almost picked up the phone. It was simple. He would call him and tell him to get up here. He needed help; big help, and who better than his best friend to help steer him through this mess. It was a whale of a good idea, and yet he couldn't do it. He wasn't ready to face this, and House would demand nothing less.

He shut off his pager and turned his chair back to the window, swinging his feet up on the ledge and staring out into the bleak existence before him.

…………………………………………………………………………………

"Wilson is ignoring you," Foreman said.

House rolled his eyes. "He can't take a joke."

"We can read these without him."

"That's not the point!"

"I don't see any tumors. Looks like some scarring from an infection and nothing more."

"Any idiot can see that!"

"I think we should focus on the stiff joints. Let's test her for rheumatoid arthritis."

House looked at Foreman out of the corner of his eye. "Well, don't just stand there then. Test her!"

…………………………………………………………………………………………….

He leaned against the door and pressed the buzzer, peeking in the window. It was very possible that House had gone to bed. Lights were off. He swayed back and forth, and then hit the buzzer again. When he still got no response, he let himself slide down the door and onto the ground. Awkwardly, he propped himself against the brownstone façade and closed his eyes. It seemed logical that this place was as good as any for a little rest. He was just drifting off when the door opened, and a bedraggled House appeared in boxers and a robe.

"You paged me," Wilson said from the ground.

House rubbed at his eyes and looked down at his friend. "You're drunk."

"I know. I wanted to be really wasted like back in college when I woke up in the front yard of the dean's house with his gardener standing over me with a garden shears. I thought he was going to trim me. Any, I feel like I'm almost there."

"What are you doing here?"

"You have good whiskey, and the bartender said I had enough. I was outraged with him, and told him that I would never patronize his establishment again, and then I tipped him 50 because I felt bad. Then I thought about doing some drunk driving; you know, something really out of character, but I couldn't do it. I'm such a wimp! So I drunk walked here. I hit a lot of signposts and fire hydrants so you could still define it as reckless, I think."

"Okay, Evel Knievel, let's get you in the house." House reached down and helped his friend pull himself up. House ignored the screaming in his leg over the extra weight Wilson added. Together, they stumbled nto his living room. House dumped him onto the couch, and Wilson immediately rolled off, landing on the floor with a thump. He looked up at House from where he lay and said, "Bring me a whiskey! Something expensive and smooth that I have no chance of appreciating just now."

House reached down and pulled him to a sitting position and helped him onto the couch again. This time he propped him against the back and helped him remove his coat. "Are you sure about that whiskey? You have to be to work in five hours. At this level, you'll still be drunk."

"I'm taking the day off," Wilson slurred. "I'm going to the zoo, and then I'm going to go find some flowers that need smelling."

House disappeared into his kitchen for a moment, and came back with a decidedly small whiskey for Wilson and a much larger one for himself. Wilson grabbed at the large one, but House held it out of his reach and deposited the small one into his hands. He settled into an armchair across from him. "Alright, Wilson, spill. What's eating you? A patient die? One of your kids? That's usually what's going on when you have one of your infrequent bouts of wanderlust."

"Yup. That's what happened. She was a little girl and she died yesterday. That's what happened."

House leaned forward. "Tell me about her."

"Um, her name was…Rosalie something. And she had leukemia and she died as so often happens with the big tumors. It was very sad and I questioned my worth as an oncologist."

"She had leukemia with tumors?"

Wilson furrowed his brows and tried to concentrate. "Yes…very rare. Untreatable unless the tumor can be reduced through a rather huge, ugly dose of chemo."

"Tumor or tumors?"

Wilson shook his head angrily. "Stop it! I don't remember everything. It was sad and confusing, and I am unclear what to do about it."

"James, what's really going on?"

"Cancer kills! Isn't it obvious? Why did I fool myself? Why did I think I wouldn't have to pay for it myself?"

"I don't understand. What are you paying for? What happened?"

Wilson closed his eyes and let his breathing settle. "Cancer is tough. I was an idiot to think that I knew what I was doing."

House felt fear rising up in him. "Wilson, please tell me what happened."

James Wilson turned his face into the cool leather of the sofa. His breathing got heavy and the whiskey in his hand tilted and gently poured out onto the wood floor. He began to snore softly. House sat there for a while nursing his drink. He was unable to dislodge a sense of dread growing within him. Finally he walked over and pried the glass from Wilson's hands. He grabbed his legs and swung them onto the couch. An afghan was within easy reach and he spread over his friend. Then he stood and stared at him for a long time, but no matter how many times he went over the conversation they just had, he couldn't put the pieces together.

………………………………………………………………………………………………


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. They are the property of David Shore and Fox television

A/N: I am already starting to neglect school work, but this is too much fun to stop. I am glad you are all enjoying it. Your feedback really motivates me. Please note that I am keeping my medical descriptions simple. I am wading through unchartered waters there. Also I've brought Marlou on board as beta. She's a gem, and the first chapter yielded more than its share of grammatical errors. Enjoy!

Sheila

**Heart Cancer**

**Chapter 2**

House rubbed his eyes in frustration and tried to concentrate on the file in front of him, but it was almost impossible. He was operating with about 3 hours of good sleep, and he was past the age where he could get through the day without showing signs of fatigue. He slapped the file shut and sighed.

After Wilson passed out last night, he had tried to go back to sleep, but it was no good. Unwittingly, his friend had given him a puzzle to solve and he couldn't help feeling that the stakes were high.

This morning, he had prodded at Wilson, but the man only groaned and pushed him away. He finally got him up for a shower, and when House went to get him a towel, Wilson had disappeared out the front door. Chasing him down the block was not even an option.

So he had gone to work, half doubting that Wilson would really play hooky. He had checked on Wilson's story about a dying leukemia patient, but found nothing to substantiate it. The nurse manager in oncology said that the last juvenile death had been two months earlier.

Whatever was going on, Wilson clearly needed time to think on his own. House needed to be patient as Wilson had so often been for him. The only problem was that House had virtually no relationship with patience.

"So you want to tell me what's going on or do I have to guess?" A formidable Lisa Cuddy was standing before him, her shiny black hair cascading over her shoulders. As usual she was dressed in a suit he could have imagined his grandmother in, but only if she was also a stripper on the side.

House scowled, "Is putting your twins on display every time you come to work really the new feminism?"

"Do you want to file a complaint?"

"In no way, shape or form. It's nice that our hospital administrator is willing to invest so much to ensure healthy fantasy lives for her doctors. It's good for those of us in the trenches.' He grabbed the oversize tennis ball off his desk and flipped it in the air.

Cuddy took a deep breath. "About five years ago, James Wilson took a sick day and stayed home. He did rounds by phone, and kept three residents busy reporting back to him on his cases. He ran them ragged. I finally had to block his calls. Ever since then, he doesn't get sick. I mean, he does not get sick. He gets his flu shot every year on the day they become available. He's only a few hand washings shy of an OCD diagnosis. And when he does get sick, he takes a vitamin C/Echinacea cocktail and goes to bed for 12 hours. That's all it takes. But today, I come in, and my chief of Oncology has called in sick with almost no notice, and I can't reach him on the phone. I am prevented from imagining him dead in a ditch only by a call from Julie saying that you called her at 3 in the morning to say he was crashing with you. So, what's going on?"

"A man who works as hard as Wilson can't take a sick day?' House clutched the ball and leaned forward.

"A man who works as hard as Wilson doesn't take a sick day." She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. He realized that she wasn't going to leave without something.

"I don't know."

She threw her hands up. "Not possible. I thought you knew everything."

"He showed up drunk and passed out. I never found out anything more."

"You're kidding?"

"He lied to me and I bought it."

She shook her head, "The great House didn't catch a lie?"

"It was Wilson. He still believes his nose will grow if he tells one."

"I don't like it."

House nodded. "Me neither."

She nodded and then turned to go. Before she got to the door, she looked at him over her shoulder, "Julies says 'thanks' for calling her last night. I know the two of you have never gotten along that well. That was nice."

Instinctively, House tried to counter this evidence of his caring with a dry comment, but nothing came to mind. He stared grimly down at his desk, finding he could muster up no interest in his TV or his game boy.

………………………………………………………………………………………..

Julie cried a lot, and so it was a ridiculous idea to bring her to the zoo to have this kind of conversation, but the headache plaguing him was only one of the variables impacting his common sense. He finally stopped her at a park bench and sat the both of them down.

Mascara slid down a cheekbone, encased in a tear. Wilson debated reaching over to wipe it away, but Julie reached up and rubbed at her face, smearing it across her cheek. Now it was clear they would have to have the 'you need to wash your face' conversation, but it seemed prudent to wait until she stopped sobbing.

She raised her cornflower blue eyes to his. "How long have you known?"

"Two days."

She licked her top lip. "How long has House known?"

He took a deep breath. This would have to be about House; even now with the specter of cancer looming over them, it will end up being up about House. "Jules, he doesn't know."

"Really?"

"You are the first one I've told."

She blinked at him, streaks of make-up dancing about her face. "Are you dying?"

He hesitated because the truth was he was dying, they all were. Was he going to die in the next year? That was the real question. For the moment, it helped to remove himself and pretend he was the doctor again talking to a patient's wife. "It is a big tumor. There is treatment, and the success rate for this kind of tumor is promising. We'll know more in a couple of months."

Her face deadened, "I used to be a nurse, remember? Don't give me the old prognosis shuffle."

He threw his arms up above his head. "I don't know, Jules. I don't know. My crystal ball is at the shop."

She nodded. "I understand. It's okay. We're going to get through this. I am going to be there for you."

Wilson nodded dutifully. It was an effort to keep his face impassive. This is where the expectations would start. This is where he would undoubtedly disappoint her as he always did; no matter if he lived or died.

She ran long, delicate fingers through her soft, curly brown hair. "I'll take a leave; 6 months to start. My sales territory isn't that big yet. Carol and Ted can cover it between them. Then I can be there for you whenever you need me."

James struggled not to wince. "No Jules, really. I don't want you to take a leave. Work is important. You can't saturate yourself with this. It'll overwhelm you."

She reached over and stroked his cheek. "But I want to. I want to be there for you. This can be our…we can grow closer."

He gently pulled her hand away. "You have to let me breathe. I am not an invalid; not yet anyway. We still have to live our lives."

He could feel her stiffen. "You're pushing me away again."

"Jules, please. I'm not pushing you away. We've talked about this a million times. You are my wife. I want to be with you. But each of us needs to be our own people as well. You have your interests and I have mine. I am going to need your support and your patience and your understanding."

She snorted and looked away. "You always do this. You get scared. Why?"

'Because you suffocate me!' He wanted to scream into her face. Instead, he gently steered her face back to his. "I'm not pushing you away."

She looked at him for a long time searching his eyes. She needed him to need her, and he couldn't accommodate her. She worked her mouth a couple of times and finally she said, "I've been sleeping with Ted. I didn't want to, but you were never there."

He threw back his head and laughed. He started rubbing at his eyes much like she did. Then he looked at her. "You're serious, aren't you?"

Tears were coursing down her cheeks again. "It's a lousy time to tell you. We haven't talked this much in months and I have wanted to tell you for a while. I guess I want to see if it mattered to you."

"I know I have been a disappointment to you, but I didn't think we were at this point."

She had discovered the mascara on her cheek and was rubbing at her face. "Maybe I wanted to hurt you before you hurt me. Your record speaks for itself, you know."

"What do you want from me, Jules? What do you want?"

"I want to work on this. I want you, not Ted. I want this to be a wake-up call for both of us."

Wilson was already calculating how much damage he could do to his liver before the chemo started. He stood up.

"Come on, James. Don't be like this. Think back to when you were in this position. You wanted forgiveness. You wanted a fresh start. This is our chance. Don't push me away when you need me most. I can call Ted tonight. He'll understand---"

"He'll understand." Wilson considered the statement for a moment. "I'm happy that Ted will be so magnanimous about this. He's a real sport. I can't wait to meet him. We can compare notes. Maybe I can show him that spot you like so much or does he already know?"

"I was wrong. This was stupid. I don't know what I was thinking. I was in shock, and I just…I'm sorry." She got up and tried to approach him. Wilson backed away. "Please James."

"I'll have my stuff out by the weekend."

"No!" She was getting loud. Women with strollers and little kids stopped in their tracks to look over. "Come on. Do you think you are the only one hurting here? Don't make this an excuse to walk away. Please."

James looked around and could imagine that everyone was wondering what he had done to this hysterical woman. Then he looked at her. "Jules, let's say that I was using this as an excuse. That should tell both of us something."

"James! I love you."

"I love you too, but it doesn't mean that we can be together. I am responsible for what happened to this marriage. I know that, but I can't just start over, especially now."

"Let's talk." She tried to reach out to him.

He put up a hand and shook his head. He gave her one last look of warning, and then turned, trotting away down the path.

…………………………………………………………………………………..

Drinking and doing chemo were not recommended. Being dehydrated when he was already going to be nauseous was ridiculous. He only had a couple of days. He took another long drag of the whiskey in front of him. He couldn't remember the last time he had had a meal. The bartender looked at him and he raised his glass. This was the same guy who had kicked him out the night before, but he smiled some and the man reluctantly filled his glass. He heard the cane but didn't react. Reaction required reflexes. All of his had gone to sleep.

"You're really starting to piss me off, you know?"

Wilson chuckled and then buried his face in his new whiskey. "I bet you think you're clever, finding me here."

"Yeah, I was a real Einstein," House countered. He settled into the seat beside him. "You only go to this bar. Did you know that?"

"I was refused last night and it hurt my feelings. Who knows where I would have gone tonight." Wilson mumbled into the glass tumbler in front of him.

"Right, you are _not_ a creature of habit. I keep forgetting." House signaled the bartender and ordered a brandy.

"My wife left me today." He looked at House for a reaction. "Actually, I left her emotionally, and then she left me sexually and then I left her physically. Does that make sense?"

"My life works better when you have no problems," House said, making short work of his brandy.

Wilson chuckled. "Does this constitute the sum of my relationships? People are interested in only how my problems affect them."

House took a deep breath. It's a surprise that I'm an emotional idiot? Let me try again. I am a little lost when you are not available. Maybe you're my compass."

Wilson smiled into his whiskey. "I'm glad I can be something to someone."

"Jesus, please give me a clue. There is no Rosalie."

Wilson took another drink. "Yeah. Julie left me."

"Really! That's what was going on last night?"

Wilson shrugged. "Couldn't talk to you about it."

House shook his head. "You're full of shit, Wilson."

James Wilson laughed. "I'm trying something new. What if I wasn't the most predictable person in the world?"

House took a breath. "Fine. Just be someone I can talk to."

Wilson took a drink and then signaled the bartender. "She left me. Or I left her. I can't remember."

"James, you've been having headaches. There is no dying kid. You've disappeared from the hospital, albeit for one day, but I called around and Princeton General said that you are a patient there."

"What if I wanted my life to be my own? What if I didn't need any help and I just needed some privacy?" Wilson finished his drink and accepted the next one with a smile.

"Then you are not Wilson. And I have survived the last five years for no reason at all."

Wilson's eyebrows rose. "Really! It's not the work. It's not Cuddy or Cameron. It's me. That's what you're trying to tell me."

"Yeah," House took a drink. "You are the one. You have been there through everything with me. What can I say?"

"And I'm not sharing. Life's really gotta suck right now." Wilson started laughing into his drink. He signaled the bartender for another, but the man ignored him.

"What if I paid you? Do you have a price?"

Wilson pounded the bar. "What if I was fighting for my life and I didn't think you could help? What if I didn't want my life at Princeton Plainsboro to be destroyed? What if I didn't want what few relationships I have left to change? What if I was just struggling to survive?"

"Then you would be me five years ago." House stayed impassive although his fingers danced against his glass.

"Greg, the tumor is big. It could go either way. What can I say?"

House's breath caught. He ran a finger in a circle around his drink. "Talk to me, James. What kind of tumor are you talking about?"

Wilson breathed into his whiskey. "It's in the brain. I've looked at it. It's big. There's a good chance I'm not going to survive it."

"Do you forget who I am?" House chuckled mirthlessly into his drink. Then he threw his head back and downed the scotch in one gulp.

"Yeah, you're the guy that never accepts the truth. Greg, you can't turn this into something it isn't."

"Bullshit! Let me help."

Wilson let out a deep breath. "I don't know if I can afford much hope."

"Let me worry about it."

Wilson sighed. "I don't actually have a place to stay tonight. I don't want to go home."

"Okay, we got that covered. You stay with me. I need access to this. Please! Let me see the films. I want the file."

"That means your whole team."

"Yeah, let me work on this."

"It will be a circus, and I don't want that.' Wilson pressed the highball glass toward the bartender when he passed. The man stopped, and considered the situation. He pulled the whiskey from the shelf and hesitated over the glass. Wilson rolled his eyes and the man reluctantly poured.

"I won't let that happen." House signaled for another. The bartender poured without question.

"I don't trust you." Wilson edged his pounding head onto his arm.

"Good. Life is as it should be. Let me talk to your doc. Come on. I'll be sensitive. I've been watching Oprah. It'll be great."

Wilson buried his face in his elbow.

"Okay. That's considered consent in some ancient Mayan cultures. So I'm going with it. Let's get you home."

House pulled Wilson off the barstool, and steered him toward the exit. The bartender reacted and House dropped a 50 dollar bill onto the bar. Wilson staggered with House, who winced at the discomfort of keeping him upright. And though he expected more trouble, Wilson was more than compliant as he settled his head against the window in the passenger side of House's mustang convertible. He snored all the way back to House's place.

……………………………………………………………………………………..

TBC

9


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: these characters are the property of Fox network and David Shore.

A/N: I want to get at the core of Wilson. He's a mystery to me. What is the appeal of his friendship with House? How does the world's nicest man go through three marriages and how does he justify the implied adultery in his marriages? So I am experimenting it with it. I hope you are interested enough to follow me through this process.

Thanks to the incomparable Marlou. She is a great beta. Sometimes, I do a little editing after she works on it, and so any mistakes you find are my goofs.

Love to hear from you.

Sheila

Heart Cancer

Chapter 3

Cuddy walked in while House was doing diagnostic differentials with his team. From a distance he could tell she knew. He had convinced Wilson to do it first thing Monday morning, and it was clear he followed through. She was wearing her lab coat and had it wrapped tightly around herself as if she was cold. But there was something else, she looked defeated and sad, something he had never seen her wear before. Without a word she took a seat at the back of the room. House struggled to refocus on Chase who was doing a rundown on their current case.

"Steroids have worked beautifully, and I would conclude that it was asthma if not for the fevers and swollen joints."

House screwed up his face, "You're going about this wrong. You suspected asthma even though all of the symptoms didn't fit, you treated it, and it improved. Accident? Or did you unwittingly stumble onto the answer?"

Foreman leaned forward. "Asthma doesn't give you fevers."

House rolled his eyes. "Where did this woman spend the last year of her life?"

"Ecuador, South America." Cameron sat up in her chair.

"What does that tell us? Come on. Think, people!"

Cameron gripped her pen tightly. "A new place. New and different viruses and bacterias. She was sick most of this last year."

House pointed at her. "Yes, Cameron actually got out of bed and came to work. When are the rest of you going to show up?"

"Viruses," Eric licked his lips. "She might have developed her asthma there; exposure to bronchial and lung infections."

"And her fevers. This could be a casserole of different conditions." Cameron was on her feet and pacing.

"Then why is she still sick? She's been home a month already," Chase persisted.

With an exaggerated gesture, House put a finger on his chin and looked skyward. "Hmmmm! Her body has been attacked from all sides for a long time. What do we know about that? How do our bodies respond after prolonged exposure to different pathogens?"

There was a brief silence as his team looked at each other. It gave time for House to sneak another peek at Cuddy. She seemed lost in thought, and, for the first time, he saw that her eyes were blurry and red. He took in a deep breath. Cuddy was a warrior, always fighting, always working. And yet, she sat there looking small, even fragile; looking like a lost girl. House had no experience with this Cuddy, and it hit him that Wilson's cancer was going to leave a lot of people looking like this.

"House, did you hear what Cameron said?" Foreman asked.

Blinking, House turned his head toward them. "So give me something already. Quit acting like a bunch of dullards."

Cameron spoke up, "She has a reactive arthiritis. The asthma weakened her and, with the other infections, her immune system became confused and attacked itself."

House allowed himself a small smile. "Cameron goes home with a gold star today."

"What's the treatment?" asked Foreman.

Cameron turned to him. "We continue with the prednisone and the neb treatments. As her body strengthens, her immune system will relax and her joints will loosen up again. She'll probably be stiff for another month or so, but then she'll be just fine."

"I'll go tell her." Chase got up.

House shook his head, "Not so fast. We have another case."

Cameron looked around. Cases almost never came from House himself, and no one in the room had presented with a file. "No, we don't."

House looked at Lisa Cuddy who couldn't meet his eyes. "Yes, we do. Sit down. The asthmatic woman can wait. A couple of days and she's going home with nothing more exciting than a story for the grandkids."

Warily, Chase and Cameron reseated themselves. House erased the board and started writing. "Male, aged 39, healthy with the exception of a brain tumor lodged in the temporal lobe of his brain. It is two millimeters too large for surgery at this time-"

Chase interrupted, "So, we think that the tumor is something other than cancer, right?"

"No," House put the head CT under the lights and clipped it. "I've spent the last day and a half looking at it and there's a biopsy for confirmation. It's cancer, no doubt about it."

The glass door opened and James Wilson walked into the room in his white lab coat and leaned on a bookcase at the back of the room. House stopped for a moment and looked at the floor. Then he let out a sigh, and continued, "First course of treatment will be three weeks of chemo at high doses, really high doses. Then, hopefully, the tumor can be removed through surgery."

Foreman got up and wandered over to the film. "Looks bad. You think he's got a chance?"

House ignored him, and found that there wasn't a pair of eyes in the room that he could meet in that moment.

"I don't get it," Chase said. "We're diagnosticians not oncologists. Why do we care about this?"

"He's got a point," Wilson sounded, his hands buried deep in his coat pocket.

"Yeah," Chase continued. "This is not what we do."

"It is now." Cuddy spoke up and heads swiveled in her direction as if people hadn't remembered she was there. She looked at Wilson with a ferocity that reminded House of who she was.

"We're changing for this case. We're going to put all of our resources into saving this patient. We are going to research every tumor of this type presenting in the world. We are going to become experts on the treatments for this tumor, the surgical procedures; everything there is to know, we're going to know it." House thrust his cane in the air at this last statement.

"Isn't this sort of Wilson's territory?" Cameron looked troubled.

Wilson pressed at his temples. "That's what I said."

Cuddy stood up. "We're putting all of the hospital's resources into this case. Whatever you need, House." She rubbed at the bridge of her nose.

"Right. Beating cancer is just a matter of resources. Throw enough money at it, and everything will be fine." Wilson looked away from Cameron who seemed puzzled by his sarcasm.

"Aren't you supposed to be somewhere?" House barked.

"I rescheduled for tomorrow."

House slammed his cane down on the table. "This is your priority!"

"I have 36 patients who would say otherwise!" Wilson shouted back.

"It doesn't matter. Your case is being transferred here," Cuddy said, smoothing her skirt and tossing her hair back with a defiant look on her face.

"I don't think so," Wilson countered.

"It's Wilson's case?" Foreman looked at the doctors around him.

"Then why isn't Wilson in charge of it?" Chase added.

"Because it's Wilson, you moron!" House threw his cane down on the floor and dropped into a chair. Silence fell. Cuddy folded her arms across her chest and glared at House.

Cameron walked up to the brain CT and studied it. She shook her head, and turned to Wilson, "This is you?"

Wilson glared at House. "Remember when I talked to you about not turning this into a circus."

House shrugged and looked away. Foreman and Chase approached the film again and looked it over. Wilson rubbed angrily at his forehead.

"Does your head hurt?" Cameron asked.

"It's probably not the cancer," House mumbled. "He's spent the last two nights trying to pickle the tumor with whiskey."

"Does it matter? It hurts like hell." Wilson strode across the room and picked up House's Vicodin, popping two in his mouth before anyone could say anything.

House whistled through his teeth. "You just took double the dose, buddy. Don't you remember you changed me to the 20 mg. pills a month ago?"

"Shit!" Wilson grabbed a trashcan and tried to bring the pills up. After some gagging, he sank down into the chair behind House's desk.

House retrieved his cane from the floor and hobbled over to his friend. "Worst case scenario you're going to get some decent rest before your first chemo treatment."

Wilson didn't acknowledge him. He sat there looking down at the floor, his hands holding his head. Cuddy walked over and put her hand on his shoulder. "James, I've known you for eight years. You are a gift to this hospital. The day Vogler voted you off the board was the day I knew that I couldn't back down until he was gone. You're my friend, and you're the best doctor I know. We need to do this with you. You would be the same if it was one of us. I'm too stubborn to let you die and House is too mean. We can beat this together."

Wilson sighed and looked up. "I make decisions about my life. I am still going to work. I'm still going to see patients. If I need you to back off, then you do it. Understand? And more than anything, you have to let this play itself out. I am not going to be a pincushion for every internet cure you come upon. If we can treat it, we will. If not, I will not be spending the rest of my life clutching at straws."

The room was silent until Chase spoke. "In order to do this, we need to know everything that you know. We need you to teach us about this tumor. We need to know how much chemo you're getting. We need to learn it all."

Wilson smiled at his youthful enthusiasm. "It would take years."

Foreman spoke up. "We don't need years. We work for House. We're combat trained. Give us the basics and we'll take it from there."

"It's impossible."

"Good," Cameron smiled. "We specialize in that."

House couldn't look up from the ground. They were going to be everything he needed them to be, and he had no way of properly expressing his gratitude. He cleared his throat and looked away.

Cuddy clapped her hands. "Okay, people. We have work to do. James, I am getting privileges for your oncologist at this hospital. You're being treated here." He started to protest but she put a hand up. "Don't fight with me on this. We have better facilities and better staff; it seems our head of oncology has built a really strong department. Plus it's more convenient for your practice. No arguments. House, you and your team are off clinic duty until this is over. I want you on this 24/7, understand?"

House recovered quickly. "No clinic duty! When this is over, one of you other bozos better come down with something serious 'cause I'm liking this."

Cuddy smiled and rolled her eyes in spite of herself. Wilson sighed and looked over at her. "You realize getting Henderson to come over here for appointments is not going to happen. He's as busy as I am."

She made a face at him. "Bill Henderson! He's not going to be a problem. We go way back. I'll have him eating out of my hand."

"Ah, he is married."

"He's a good oncologist but an idiot with women. Follows me around like a little puppy every time I see him at a conference. He tells me we have a special connection, and only because he would be a great asset to this hospital, do I not laugh in his face. Believe me, I have this covered." Cuddy winked at Wilson and turned to leave.

"You are a devious woman, Cuddy. We men are merely pawns in the chess game you call life." Cuddy ignored him and kept going. House called after her. "Want some advice? Wear the grey worsted with the neckline that never stops."

Then he turned to his team. "What! You're just sitting there. Work!" Then he pointed at Wilson. "And you are going to stop sabotaging your treatment. You sleep tonight and tomorrow you start. If you mess with your treament in even the most minute manner, I will start the rumor that you steal women's undies from the locker room and prance around in them at home."

Wilson snorted, "You tried that rumor five years ago after Stacy left and I was accused of aiding and abetting her. If you remember, the rumor never caught on because no one was actually missing their panties." He got up, nodded at the team, and sauntered out of the room.

House yelled after him, "Yeah, well this time I'm sending Chase and Foreman in to break open lockers and steal them."

Chase's eyes widened, and Foreman looked up at the ceiling, no doubt imagining how many opportunities he gave up for this job.

…………………………………………………………………………………………..

He had been nice forever. From the time he was a little boy, he had been a pleasant, well socialized child. He never missed school, always had A's, and get along with everyone. He navigated his adolescence and maintained good relationships with his parents all at the same time. In college, he was quiet but well liked; always had buddies, always had girlfriends.

He was the smart one. He studied hard for it, but the other med students did too. Somehow though, he was able to make the connections more quickly than his peers. And when he became an intern, he discovered he had a natural ease around illness. He wasn't sympathetic as much as empathetic. He believed in happiness, and it mattered to him that the people around him had their chance to live full lives. His fellow students should have hated him for all this, but they didn't; he was too nice to engender such antipathy.

Oncology is an interesting choice for anyone, but it was the right kind of challenge for him. Cancer was a worthy enemy, and the constant fight to beat it left him fulfilled. So on the outside, he had it all; good looks, brains, a job he loved, money, and women.

Now he was sitting on the other side, chemo dripping into his arm, nurses peeking in on him with sympathetic looks and smiles. His wife was gone, and he was about to lose control of his life. He felt like a freak show, and it was all he could do to maintain his demeanor.

The curtain opened again, and this time a large cinnamon face poked through. He blinked in surprise. "Hi Melvine, I didn't think you worked the oncology clinic anymore."

The woman walked in and checked his line. "They bring me back for the special cases."

Wilson chuckled. "They bring you back for the difficult cases. How did I end up in that category?"

"You're a doctor with cancer. You people are always difficult. You act like you don't have to follow the rules."

"So you're here to keep me from doing what?"

She grabbed a wrist for a pulse, talking as she listened. "I'm here so you don't treat your drip like a channel changer. I'm here to keep you in that seat for every minute you are scheduled to be here."

Wilson's eyebrows rose. "And you don't think I don't know how important all of that is."

She smiled at him. "Doctors think they know too much, and that means you. Doctors are lousy patients."

He nodded. She was right. He never had a medical professional as a patient who he didn't feel like pushing off his office balcony. They knew just enough to be dangerous to their own treatment. "So they brought in the big gun then."

"I called and asked for a transfer out of OB/GYN."

"Really?"

"You don't remember my aunt Ida?" She peered at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Of course, she had esophageal cancer. She's been cancer free going on 3 years, right? How is she?"

"She's good. And I know if I talk to aunt Ida as I do every Sunday and tell her that her favorite doctor is sick with cancer, she is going to want to know what I'm going to do about it. And I need to have an answer for her."

"Her cancer was very curable. I didn't do anything that special."

Melvine chuckled. "Aunt Ida remembers the Tuskegee experiments. The fact that she was willing to come to see you on a monthly basis for a year and feel confident that her white doctor was doing everything he could; well, that means something. So now you got me watching after you. What are you going to do about it?"

Wilson shrugged. "I guess I'm just going to have to put up with aunt Ida's goon."

"What did you say?" She glared.

"Ah, ah, I mean, ah, I didn't mean…"

She started laughing at him and then shook her head. "White people."

Wilson smiled weakly.

"I got one rule. You keep that beanpole of a cripple out of my way. I have seen how he treats people, and I am not having it. Do you understand?"

He nodded, not having a clue that he had any other choice in the matter.

……………………………………………………………………………………………..

House found him doubled up behind his desk clutching his garbage can. He was shaking, and his face was wet with sweat.

"Time to get you home." House tapped his back with his cane.

James painfully raised his pounding head. "One more patient and I'll go."

"You're kidding," House scowled down at him.

"No where else to fit her into the schedule. Tonight's the only night. It'll take an hour. I'll take a cab." Another wave of nausea hit and he squeezed his eyes shut.

House snorted, "She'll take one look at you, and figure she has a better chance with the kook selling cancer pills on the back page of the National Enquirer."

Wilson pulled himself upright, and with an unsteady gait, he headed for the bathroom. He leaned against the doorframe for a moment, and then lunged for the toilet. House rolled his eyes and picked up the phone and dialed, "Brenda, you have a woman in the lobby waiting for Wilson?...Okay, tell her that Wilson can't see her. Set her up with the new oncologist that Wilson brought on a couple of months ago….Hell, I don't know. Wilson is trying to bring up his intestines right now, and isn't really capable of instilling confidence in any kind of patient…Yeah, just do it. And tomorrow, the same thing, no appointments after 4:00…Oh, can you have someone trot up here with some compazine. Shedding internal organs through the esophagus can't be good for a person."

He turned to find Wilson sitting on the floor looking up at him, shaking his head. "I already have a mother. You can't run my life like this."

"I'm your doctor. You're just the idiot assigned to my care. You say one more thing, and I'll bring Cuddy up here. We'll see how many patients you get to see after she gets a look at you. Come on. I got the Nets on widescreen. I'm having pizza and beer, and you're going to have strawberry jello and 7-up. It'll be a party."

Wilson couldn't even muster a dirty look. It was all he could do to get on his feet and follow his friend out the door.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thank you to those brave souls that are reading a fiction without a dominating 'ship. I just spent the last year writing CSI fic, and I am afraid I am shipped out for the time being. I am not against House 'ships just not ready to write one. Rather, this fic is an ode to the House/Wilson friendship. There might be some lovin', but I am not sure what that will look like. It won't be slash. Hard to write slash for characters who are not gay. And I love me some Wilson. I am used to getting more reviews, but am very happy writing for this smaller community because this is so much fun to write. Thanks for taking the time to let me know what you think.

Sheila

**Heart Cancer**

**Chapter 4**

He smiled when he saw her. If nothing else, he had to admire her nerve. She paused awkwardly outside his office, hesitating at the glass door to his office. She heaved a big sigh and pushed the door in, walking straight up to his desk.

He leaned back in his chair and regarded her. "Well, if it isn't Jezebel."

She was a study in perfection. Her suit was a light gray silk and her white blouse was decorated with tiny rosebuds, complimenting the delicacy of her light features. Her hair was neat, curly tendrils loose about the nape of her neck, and she wore fine, tasteful gold jewelry including a wedding ring that clung to her long, delicate finger. She worked on her bottom lip as she stood before him. "It's taken me three days to get up the courage to come see you. I have imagined many ways in which you might insult me, and am sure that are many more I didn't think of, but I'm here and we need to talk."

"Very brave speech, Julie. I imagine it _has_ taken something to get you in my office. What I can't imagine though, is why."

"He won't talk to me."

House chuckled. "And this perplexes you?"

She looked away for a moment, and then she seemed to make a decision. She pulled up a chair, crossing her long legs primly. "I am prepared to play your games with you, but, for a moment, why don't you just relax your amazing wit and hear me out."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Not bad, Jules. Go for it. You have the floor."

She blinked as if unsure to trust him. Then she took a deep breath. "You think I'm here to get him back."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe you're here for the cafeteria food. Eating hospital is all the rage these days, and you are all about the 'in' thing. Maybe the fact that his office is ten feet away from mine is not a factor at all."

"Well, the problem is that he doesn't want me back, and I'm not sure it's worth the fight to get him to change his mind. I think it would be smarter for me to just come to terms with the fact that we don't want the same things in a marriage."

"Easy come, easy go."

Tears welled up in her eyes and she dabbed at the corners. "I'm sure that's what you would like to think. I'm just ready to move on, right? Maybe for just one minute, imagine that I want to hold onto him with everything I am, but the reason I don't is because I think he would never want me in that same way, and I don't have the guts to survive the truth of it."

He let out a rush of air. "Twisted in all of that melodrama is some kind of logic, I'm sure, but I still don't get where I come in."

She squeezed her wet eyes shut, but was unable to control the emotion within. "He's sick, and I can't sleep. I think about him all the time. I want to help."

House looked around the room, his eyes landing on anything that wasn't the crying woman before him.

"I know he's sleeping at your house, but that can't last. He likes his own space. And he can't be getting the right foods at your house. I'm trying to imagine that he is, but I can't."

"Okay, let's imagine for a moment that he could be getting better rest and healthier nutrition; what do you have in mind?"

"He can have the condo. I…I'll stay with a friend. I won't bother him. I promise. He can change the locks."

"You'll stay with your new boyfriend."

She looked away. "Sure. Whatever. Think what you want. There's a woman who comes into to clean. James never sees her; he's always at work when she comes, but she's a good cook, really good and he likes her food. I talked to her, and I think she could handle any kind of special diet he needs. You just need to give me an idea what that is."

"It kills you that he is staying with me." House cocked his head at her.

She started to laugh, "Yeah, its pure jealousy. You won and I lost, and I can't live with that. That's all that's going on right now 'cause you can assure me that staying with you is the best thing for him, that he's eating well, he's getting rest, and that staying with you isn't one step above living at a frat house. You can assure me that he gets better than your constant sarcastic bitterness. You and I both know we don't have much to play with here. Either the chemo helps or it doesn't. The only factors we can impact are his emotional and physical health. So, in that regard, we're doing everything we can, right?" Furious, she bolted out of her chair and started to pace.

"You think I care about you want?"

"This is about him. He's special. You know he is. Why else do you spend so much time with him? You're too arrogant to put up with ordinary. He's special and he means a lot to you. It's your worst kept secret, House."

He rubbed his chin for a moment and then looked up at her. "I'll talk to him."

She nodded and turned to leave. "Julie." She stopped and waited. "Wilson doesn't know that love isn't always enough to make a marriage work. In fact, it rarely is. It's amazing really. He is brilliant in so many other ways, but it's like he's an idiot savant when it comes to relationships. Three marriages and he's probably no smarter about women than the first time he walked down the aisle."

She smiled softly, "Why do you think we all wanted to marry him? It's one of his best qualities."

…………………………………………………………………………………….

"So, do you want your place back? Julie says she's moving out no matter what you decide." House sat at the piano, his fingers dancing aimlessly through different chords.

Wilson laid on the couch playing House's gameboy. "I saw her coming, you know. I slipped inside before she saw me. I was prepared not to answer the door. Thank God I don't have a glass door like you do."

House took a sip of the scotch on top of the piano. "I have to say I was rather impressed with her. She's either playing the game at a higher level than I ever gave her credit or she honestly just wants to help."

Wilson looked over at him. "She just wants to help. She's a good person."

House rolled his eyes. "The tumor has destroyed your emotional center."

Wilson narrowed his eyes. "First off; not funny. Second, believing good things about people is not pathetic."

His blue eyes popped open. "It's only been a week!"

"She had some good points. I am the one who screwed up the marriage. And how is it that I can't forgive her for something I myself did. It's hypocritical."

"So then why were you hiding from her?" House did a dramatic roll across the keys.

Wilson put the gameboy down. "Because I would have gone home with her if she asked, and even I know how stupid that would have been."

"She's says I'm not feeding you right."

Wilson stared up at the ceiling, his hands raised in wonder. "You are not feeding me at all. You are not my caretaker. I eat when I want, sleep when I want, and I'm capable of all other independent activities as well. What is it with all of you!"

"Chase has been researching a macrobiotic diet for you. What do you think?"

He sat up on the couch and shrugged. "It's a smart idea."

"Then why are we just starting to talk about it now?"

"'Cause it is always a better idea when it is for someone else. Brown rice, oatmeal, vegetables, ugh."

House glared. "So you're going to be six years old now. We're going to have to chase you around about the basics?"

"I'm not a robot. This is a process for me just like anyone else. I just happen to know enough to hate this crap before I have to try it."

"Some nurse named Melvin called to remind you that you have chemo in the morning. You say you don't want me to be your nurse maid, but then I end up taking your phone messages for you."

"Her name is Mel-veen, not Melvin, and she most definitely doesn't like you."

House scowled. "What did I do to her?"

"Nothing. She's seen you with others. It's a pre-emptive strike."

"Well, I hope you defended me to her. Remember what I always say, 'Bros before Hos, Man!"

Wilson grinned. "Right. Say that when you see her. She'll like that. Her perceptions of you will change."

"She wants you in the chair by 7:30 tomorrow."

Wilson groaned. "You know, now that I have experienced chemotherapy, I've decided to never use it as a treatment again. There has to be something less grueling than poisoning your body."

"My guess is that your batting percentage with patients will go down markedly."

"Sometimes our cures are as likely to kill as they are to save patients. What is that! We laugh about medical treatment from the middle ages when, in today's age, it feels like we are just as bad."

House sighed, "Wilson I am happy to fight with you on any number of issues, but don't make chemo one of them. It sucks, but it is our ace in the hole right now. Cameron says that there has been some success in even upping the dose more than what we have right now. You are young and strong with no chronic complaints. You're a perfect candidate for this."

Eyes closed, he leaned back on the couch. "I can't ask my patients to do what I am unwilling to do myself."

"That's beautiful. I'm going to print up t-shirts."

"Shut up already. I'll do it."

"Good. I already called in the new orders."

"I am going to be an ugly, bald man. Probably going to keep my eyebrows though. Chemo's funny like that. Gonna end up looking like Groucho Marx."

"You're not going to fight me on this?"

"No, I've been thinking we should up the dose for a couple of days now. Just haven't had the guts to take the plunge." Wilson rubbed at his face and picked up the gameboy again.

"And they say doctors shouldn't treat themselves," House chuckled and returned to his keyboard, gently moving into a piece by Bach.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

"You have a best friend?"

Foreman's eyebrows rose from the textbook he was reading. "Why?"

"Just wondering. I never really got the point of it, I guess. The whole idea sounds fraught with responsibility if you ask me." Chase returned to the article he was reading online.

"Why are we having this conversation?"

"House and Wilson. Doesn't it intrigue you even the tiniest bit?"

Foreman chuckled. "When I first came to work here, I was always really wary of Wilson. I kept trying to imagine what personality mutation he had that caused him to enjoy being around House."

"I didn't get it either, at first."

Foreman swiveled in his chair, "But you do now?"

Chase shrugged. "I think they each wish for what the other has."

"Go on."

"House wishes he was likeable and dependable like Wilson is. And Wilson wishes he had House's nerve to disrupt the world around him, no matter what the cost. They're both brilliant, they like to talk to one another, they respect each other; I think Wilson keeps House contained, centered, and I think House keeps him challenged."

"I think House would be lost without him." Foreman sighed.

"Think how many times Wilson has run interference on our behalf. I am not looking forward to a world without him around." Chase ran his hand across his stubbled chin.

"Well, that's what we're here to prevent."

Chase snorted. "You really think we can make a difference?"

Foreman gave him a look. "We're both about to bust our butts trying, got it?"

Chase threw his arms up in surrender and returned to the notes he was taking from the online journal.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Melvine kept him behind a curtain in a private room. Nurses and doctors had long since learned that poking their head in for a sympathetic look was going to be met with a steely glare from the strong willed nurse.

The first few times, Wilson brought in journals or files to review, but he couldn't truly concentrate, so now he just laid there and closed his eyes and let memories of his short and proper life wash over him. He thought about Sunday afternoon football games with his brothers, and long walks with his mother when the fall leaves were at their zenith. He remembered the exhilaration of new loves and how full of hope each relationship began. It was as if his mortality was hooked up to his central vein, and he was allowed a portal to a past he had never before found time for. Sometimes, emotion caught in his throat, but he never let it stop him from the memories.

One day there was a loud commotion outside his door, and his eyes popped open. Melvin disappeared out the door, and quickly came back in, urging him back into his seat and assuring him that nothing was wrong. She disappeared again for a long time. When she finally came back in, she was evasive and he found her staring at him with her brows furrowed.

The next time he came to chemo, she prepped him, and then announced that the clinic could no longer afford to staff her one on one with him. Wilson was about to protest that he had never intended to take up all of her time, when she slipped out into the lobby and returned with a mother and her three children.

Wilson sat up. "What's going on?"

"The clinic gave me another troublemaker. No reason why I can't handle the both of you together." She steered the woman into another chair and began to prep her arm. Her children found seats and the oldest one pulled out a tattered copy of _Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel _and began reading to the two youngest.

A wave of annoyance rose up in Wilson as he watched his solitude be dismantled around him. "Can I at least have my own room?"

Melvine stopped hooking up her patient, and the woman leaned across her to get a look at him. Wilson was struck by her fierce, dark eyes and the wild, black hair that danced around her head. "Absolutely, doctor." Her voice was cold. She looked over her shoulder as she began to remove the line from the woman's vein. "The only other room is on the other side of the clinic so you will have to forgive me if I have to run back and forth between my two troublemakers."

Wilson rubbed at his forehead. "Wait! I'm sorry. I'm in a mood."

Melvine put her hands on her hips and waited.

Wilson nodded. "Yes, yes, I am a selfish jerk. Of course, I do not want you to have to run from one end of the clinic to the other, and I am sure Ms…., I am happy to have the company."

The woman looked at Melvine as if to launch her own protest, but the nurse ignored her.

"I apologize for my behavior," Wilson offered, sitting up in an effort to get a better look at his roommate.

The woman nodded at him warily and laid her head back in the chair. On chairs against the wall, the small children continued to stay enthralled by the story the oldest was reading to them. Wilson laid back himself, but couldn't focus. The faint scent of flowers wafted over him. The smell of women was his weakness. It was probably a main reason he liked to be married. He loved the smell of a woman next to him in bed. He loved the perfume in her hair and the smell of musk in her skin. The scent of a woman intoxicated him.

"What's your name?" Her voice was strong with a hint of Bronx in it and it startled him out of his reverie.

"I'm James Wilson."

"You're a doctor?"

He nodded at her.

"You don't look like a troublemaker to me," she said.

He allowed himself a smile. "Melvine says all doctors are troublemakers."

"That's right," the nurse said as she adjusted his line.

"Well then, I guess you belong." Her voice was thick and drowsy although Wilson doubted she was sleepy.

He ventured a question. "What's your name?"

Her chin shot up. "I'm Consuela Sandoval. People call me Conni."

"What's your claim to troublemaking fame?"

Conni looked at Melvine for a moment, "I was yelling at my doctor. I told him he was no good and I deserved better."

Wilson's eyes widened. "Were you right?"

"I think so."

"What's his name?"

Conni looked at Melvine again before answering. "Dr. Johnson."

Wilson looked at Melvine, but she wouldn't meet his eyes. She busied herself with his chart. Wilson knew he was treading on thin ice. Johnson had long been a thorn in his side. The man had been around forever and had tenure, but he was short with patients and much more interested in sailing boats than in any advances in cancer treatments.

"Can you tell me more?"

Conni narrowed her eyes and regarded him for a moment before responding, "I got no good insurance. I gotta take what I can get. He found cancer in my thyroid, but he keeps screwing up my treatment. He forgot the orders for chemo and I lost a week. Then he puts me on a new dose without saying anything, and I can't stop throwing up for days."

Anger rose in Wilson and he turned away.

"That's right. All doctors stick together. I'm sure you're thinking that the little Puerto Rican lady didn't understand what the doctor was saying to her." It almost felt to him like she was spitting the words at him.

"No, it's not like that. I'm really sorry he treated you badly. You should switch physicians."

She rolled her eyes at him, and he noticed freckles on her nose. "What do I know about oncologists? I have been to the hospital four times in my life; when I was born and for each of my children."

"Let give you some names. I know…some of these doctors." Somehow he wasn't ready for her to know him as the head of the department. He was certain it would shut her down.

Melvine pushed her glasses down her nose and looked at Wilson. She shook her head, and went to sit next to the children. The youngest was nodding off and Melvine pulled her into her lap and rested the child's head on her ample bosom.

……………………………………………………………………………………

TB

10


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Sorry! I had this chapter ready for a week already, but the internet wasn't working, but someone introduced me to the concept of a zip drive. Now everything is okay. Good news is that I am almost ready with the chapter after this one so I will post #6 this weekend. Thanks for your patience! Hope you enjoy! Let me know if you're on board with this. We have so many places to take it yet.

Sheila

**Heart Cancer **

**Chapter 5**

Cameron lifted her head from where it had been perched on the microscope, and pinched the bridge of her nose. Eyestrain was one of the many burdens of research, and she'd been looking at Wilson's cancer cells for the last 3 hours. Recent studies had suggested that the presence of type A white blood cells could improve his chance of survival, but she found no evidence of these cells.

She'd found the article the night previous, and had showed up at 4 a.m. to start preparing samples for study. It was now 11:30 a.m., and she had no good news. She almost felt like hiding the fact that there was even this possibility. The idea of adding more disappoint to their lives seemed unnecessary.

Someone cleared their throat and she jumped. She hadn't heard him come in, but there he was, only a few feet from her, his intense blue eyes bearing down on her. "So did you find anything?"

She swallowed. "Um, well, technically I wasn't looking for…I was just checking some—"

He sighed. "Your eyes are puffy from lack of sleep, and I saw the article on your desk. What time did you show up today?"

"Early," she said as she rubbed at the edges of her eyes, trying to imagine what she must look like without sleep. "I didn't find anything. I've been looking for hours, but I can't find them."

"Yeah, that's what happens when they're not there. I appreciate your interest in sparing people, but don't do that with me. I need to know everything."

He was surprisingly soft with her, and it filled her with an uneasy feeling, something almost sad. She swallowed hard as he made his way to the door. She took a chance and called out to him, "House! I was wondering…um, I have a question."

He stopped at the doorway and looked at her.

She bit her lip and then launched in, "I was wondering if you would tell me how the two of you became such good friends. Was Wilson one of your students? I don't understand how the two of you ever…"

"Good. You think this will help. You think my relationship with Wilson has something to do with cancer. Perhaps, prolonged exposure to my particular wit is cancer causing."

She looked away.

"Is there a reason you need to know?"

She shook her head and started to gather up her slides.

"Well, I'm hungry."

She ignored him and continued her work. She picked up her things, and was surprised to still find him looking at her from the doorway. "I said, 'I'm hungry'."

"What do you want me to do about it?"

He shrugged. "I can be bribed."

She shook her head in frustration. "What are you talking about?"

"Buy me lunch. The better the lunch, the better the stories I'll tell you."

"I buy you lunch and you'll tell me how you and Wilson met?" She raised her brows at him.

"You take me to McDonald's, and I'll tell you only the year in which I met the man. You take me some place nummy and the information improves. What do you say?"

Thus, she found herself seated across him, an hour later, at the best steak place she could think of. House was smiling down at a thick, bloody piece of filet mignon. She couldn't imagine eating anything that heavy so early in the day, and so a chicken Caesar salad sat in front of her.

"So, he was your student."

House finished chewing and spoke, "Wilson was one of my students at Johns Hopkins. He wanted to specialize in infectious disease. He was a second year resident, one of four that I had."

"You were friends with a student?"

He screwed up his face. "Oh God, no! I couldn't stand him."

Her eyes widened.

"You think you're earnest? He was so sincere I couldn't even look at him most of the time." House attacked his potatoes au gratin.

Her forehead creased in confusion. "I don't get it."

He rolled his eyes and sawed away at his steak. For a couple of minutes they ate in silence, and then Cameron stabbed her fork in his direction. "So, talk to me. I want to know more."

"I'm eating."

"That's a Madeira truffle reduction on your filet mignon. You owe me a big conversation here."

He smirked at her and finished chewing. "Wilson was good. He worked hard, had an encyclopedic knowledge of diseases, and took a lot of crap from me. But he wasn't going to be a great diagnostician; a good one undoubtedly but not a great one."

"Why?" She leaned forward on her forearms, her salad forgotten.

"Diagnostics is…an imprecise science. Coloring in the lines is only going to take you so far. You have to be willing to explore the edges of possibility; make it an art form. You know that. Wilson was only able to go so far. He tried, but it didn't suit his talents. For almost two years, I tried to ride him out of diagnostics, but he wouldn't budge. He took everything I threw at him and worked harder."

"What about me? Foreman? Chase? Do we have it?"

House considered her question and then smiled at her. "One of you does. One of you doesn't, and the third might. The jury's still out on that one."

"Which one am I?"

"Telling you would be no fun at all. I'm going to let you figure it out for yourself. Besides, we're here to talk about Wilson, aren't we?" He returned to his food.

Cameron sighed deeply and looked away. After a few minutes, she said, "Alright, have it your way. At least I'm going to get my money's worth about Wilson. Spill!"

House looked up, startled. Then he nodded and continued. "He was good with the patients. We would diagnose, and be ready to move on, but that wasn't good enough. The patients all wanted nice Dr. Wilson to provide ongoing care. People who had been non compliant on their medications for years would change their ways for the handsome Dr. Wilson."

"You sound jealous."

House chuckled. "Wilson was too good to waste his time on a speciality that didn't match his talents. He was the complete package; brilliant, committed, and great with patients. He was just too stubborn to think he couldn't excel at everything."

"So you pushed him into oncology."

"No! Two years around Wilson, and I couldn't help but start to like the guy. I wouldn't wish oncology on my worst enemy. "

"He found it on his own?"

A barracuda of a colleague named Lisa Cuddy came by trolling for talent, and stole him right out from under me. The next thing I knew, he was working his way up the departmental food chain here at Plainsboro."

"And then you followed him."

"That, Cameron, is a whole other story. There's an expensive Italian place Atlantic City where I'd be happy to tell that story."

She let out an exasperated sigh and sat back in her chair.

"But if you order me the death by chocolate dessert, I'll tell you all of his divorce stories. Very steamy stuff. And…that salad is looking awfully lonely. Mind pushing it this way." A grin spread across his long face.

……………………………………………………………………………….

They were already gathered in the office. He could tell 35 ft. before he hit the door. Loud, sarcastic remarks floated out into the hallway and he dreaded walking into it. Not only were they all going to be there, but with the exception of his oncologist, all of them had a vested emotional interest. It did not make for a dispassionate accounting of the current situation and that was what he thought he most needed right now.

The other reason was his head. The pounding headache had started two days ago. He was able to stave it off with ibuprofen to some extent, but now it resisted all attempts at relief. It was the tumor. He was sure of it, and it scared him more than he was willing to say. Right now, it was his secret. Everyone knew about the cancer. He tried not to wince at the looks and extra attention people at the hospital gave him; he knew it was only out of concern, but it tugged at the last bit of control he was trying to retain. The headaches, the dizziness, the nausea; these were his concerns.

"Sloan, it doesn't take an expert to tell that you wouldn't know a good idea if it hit you in the head."

House's distinct tones greeted Wilson before he hit the door.

"This is good, House. The diagnostician is telling the oncologist how to treat a tumor. Your arrogance knows no bounds."

The pain in Wilson's head stabbed at his temples as he entered the room. Everyone but House and Sloan were seated. The two big egos were glaring at each other from opposite sides of the room. Cuddy sat at the table with an exasperated look on her face, and the team sat around her, watching the proceedings with interest. Heads swiveled in his direction, and he nodded curtly, finding a chair near the door.

"James," Sloan strode over, his hand outstretched. "How are you?"

Wilson pumped the man's hand limply and mumbled a greeting. Over the man's shoulder, he could see House regarding him with an odd look on his face.

"We are at some point of disagreement, I am sorry to say," Sloan continued. "Your friends seem to think we are ready for another CT scan. I think you and I know we should wait another week for that."

"Aggressive treatment is aggressive, hence the name," House shot from across the room.

"There is a study out of Stockholm that suggests that earlier CT scans can begin to track and thus, predict the course of a brain tumor," Chase said, sounding every bit like the kid in class that nobody likes.

"Great!" Sloan had his arms in the air. "Let's just scan him every day. That should be fun for everyone."

Cuddy stood up. "That's enough out of both of you. I think we should be able to come up with a CT scan schedule without bloodshed." House started to say something, but she pointed a well manicured nail at him. "I mean it, House." Surprisingly, his mouth clapped shut, and he satisfied himself with an electric blue glare at the visiting oncologist.

"Dr. Wilson," Cameron said softly, "Are you okay?"

Wilson felt dizzy and strange like he was floating outside himself. He remembered feeling this way one other time, and that was when he woke to find Hispanic women peering down at him outside of the drugstore. Her question seemed remote and distant, and unrelated to him.

"James, I think I left an article in your office; one that I wanted to talk about in this meeting." House started to move toward him. Wilson couldn't imagine what he was talking about, House rarely read the research himself and he never called him James. Somehow though, he could sense that his caustic friend was trying to help him. Wilson nodded, his head throbbing, and pulled himself to his feet.

House reached him and took his arm. "I'm a little stiff today," he mumbled loud enough for the others. But instead of weight, Wilson felt himself supported as they walked out of the room.

House leaned over, "Is your head bad?"

Wilson nodded at him, blurry lines replacing the sharp images he usually saw.

House took his keys from him, and fumbled at the door. Once the office door opened, he grabbed Wilson's shoulder and pulled him inside. Before Wilson passed out, he could feel his muscles pulse out of control; the last memory he had was of House gently lowering him onto the floor.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

He took note of the fact that the lights were awfully bright for the person lying under them. He would have to remember that the next time a patient squinted up at him. He felt naked, and a hand to his stomach confirmed that he was in a hospital gown. A sense of modesty hit him suddenly, and he checked to see if he was truly covered.

A weary face he knew all too well peered at him from a chair beside his bed. His chin rested on his cane, and, for once, he didn't have anything to say. Wilson swallowed and looked for a wall clock. He realized he must have had a seizure, and wondered how long it had incapacitated him.

"You passed out almost an hour ago."

Wilson rested his head back on the pillow and let out a deep sigh.

"We're going to do the CT scan this afternoon."

Wilson chuckled mirthlessly. "I can tell you what it's going to show. The tumor is growing; probably at least a millimeter larger than it was two weeks ago."

"The chemo hasn't had much time."

"I know." He looked away from House. "But the seizures wouldn't be continuing if it wasn't growing. I imagine we're going to have to step up the chemo some more."

"Can you handle much more?"

Wilson turned his intense brown eyes at him. "Do I have a choice?"

House squinted at the wall above Wilson. For a moment, neither spoke. Then House took a breath, "I want you to have choices. I remember how out of control this all felt for me. I should listen to you better; not make things quite so complicated."

Wilson narrowed his eyes at House. "Don't get all soft on me. You're hard enough to take on a good day. A repentant House is the last thing I need right now."

House scowled, "I wasn't---"

"Shut up, Greg. We've got a lot of work to do and you are at your best when you're an asshole."

House frowned deeply but said nothing.

Wilson grinned. "The things people let you get away with when they think you're about to die."

………………………………………………………………………………..

He agreed to a night's stay. Seizures can be exhausting, and he found that sleep on the stiff hospital mattress was remarkably easy. Cuddy did a good job of keeping well wishers away and he was grateful for that. He finished breakfast, and was ready to go. Technically, he should wait for a physician to sign him out, but he wasn't going to be that easy.

He was just working his legs into his pants when a woman walked in. Startled, his pants dropped around his ankles. Feeling something similar to what he felt in 8th grade when Mrs. Stahl walked into the boys locker room, he grabbed at them, and fell back on the bed; the only saving grace being that he still had his hospital gown on.

"Shit!" he yelped, and the raven haired woman squeezed her eyes shut. He took the opportunity to drag his pants over his hips and fasten them. Without thinking, he tucked the gown inside his waistband.

She peeked one eye open, and he realized that it was his Puerto Rican chemo buddy. "I'm sorry," she mumbled and he could see her eying the door.

He blushed. "Ah, no, no, no. It's all right. I'm afraid I was surprised, that's all." He stood up and herded her in the direction of a chair.

"I was looking for your room, and there was this man with a cane, and he told me that I should walk right in because you were wearing headphones, and probably wouldn't hear me knock." She allowed him to guide her to a seat.

Wilson had his hands on his hips, hospital gown spilling out the back like the train off a wedding dress. "Ah, yes. That would be our resident comedian. Don't pay any attention. Ignoring him is the only thing that works. Apparently I overestimated what I could get away with."

She looked confused, and he suspected she wanted nothing more than to get out of the room as quickly as possible.

"Nevermind. Your name is Conni, right? What can I do for you?" He gave her a little space by retreating to the bed.

"You told me to switch doctors, and I was thinking about it when an oncologist called me out of the blue to say that the head of the department specifically asked that she take my case. I have seen her almost every day since."

He settled onto the bed. "Good. That's the kind of care you deserve."

"You didn't tell me you were the head of oncology," she said looking at him carefully.

He shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"I was very foolish to run down your doctor in front of you."

"We need patients to be our critics. Otherwise, how will we get better at what we do?"

"Well, I appreciate what you did. My children need me around, and I have been feeling a little lost since all of this happened." She pushed up on the armrests and stood.

He hopped off the bed. "You have a good doctor now, Conni. Please do everything she tells you to do, okay?"

She nodded and smiled thinly. He noticed, close up, that her skin was warm and smooth. He wanted the perfect word to describe the color, but got lost somewhere between light cappuccino and the most delicate of mochas. He smiled at her, and moved to touch her arm when he remembered where he was and how he was dressed and the circumstances of their acquaintance. Abruptly, he stepped back, the blush returning to his cheeks.

"So I imagine that I'll see you at your next chemo appointment?" One of her eyebrows arched slightly with her question.

He hesitated. Boundaries were his problem. He wanted to do for her, help her; be the hero in her life. That's what he wanted with most women. But it never worked. Three marriages had taught him this. Women only really needed heroes when they were curled up on the sofa on a rainy Saturday afternoon with a copy of the latest romance novel in their laps. The reality of heroes was far too disappointing to extend beyond fiction.

She could feel his hesitation. "I'm sure you want a more private space. Three kids are a lot to put up with. But maybe, we'll see you around." She edged toward the door.

"I really think it's nice to have other people around to pass the time," he said before he could catch himself. "I'll see you tomorrow."

She flashed him perfect white teeth and slipped out the door. And for a moment, he stood there, his gown shooting out the back of his pants, and tried to convince himself that he could see her as nothing more than a fellow patient. He reminded himself that they came from two different worlds, and the only thing they had in common was their cancer. The last thing he needed right now was another ill-advised romance.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: These characters are not mine. They are the property of Fox Network and David Shores.

A/N: Here is chapter 6 as make up for the long wait on chapter 5. Chapter 7 will take most of this week though. Thanks for the enthusiastic response to chapter 5. There was some feedback that I would like to address. Extra Bitter points out that CT scans are not dangerous. Good point. They are, however, expensive and time-consuming, and with too much frequency, redundant. Redundant and time consuming were the issues I was trying to instill in the conversation. I apologize that I didn't make that more clear. Also, there was concern about the presence of an OC. I'm afraid she's not going anywhere. I have grown fond of well drawn OC's, and have gotten away with drawing good ones in my CSI fics. My intention is not to Mary Sue her into the story although I don't know how fluid the definition for a Mary Sue character is. Her purpose in the story is integral to Wilson. Thanks for the critique. I welcome it. And thanks to everyone who is reading, and those who are also taking time to respond.

Sheila

**Heart Cancer**

**Chapter 6**

The youngest one kept falling off the chair. She was sleepy, and was trying to snuggle up against her sister who was practicing her letters in a workbook. The little one would close her eyes, but within a minute she would slide off her sister's shoulder and tumble onto the floor. Wilson watched all of this with some interest. He found the girls to be fascinating creatures who seemed to have a maturity and sense of responsibility that was beyond their years.

The second time she fell on the floor, Melvine scooped her up and let her rest her curly head on her shoulder. Conni was sleeping, and Melvine was not interested in disturbing her. She had come in looking pale and shaky; evidence of the toll chemotherapy can have on a person.

Her line needed to be adjusted, and Melvine found the work awkward with the child on her shoulder. She turned her head and fixed Wilson with a look, and then without even a word, she picked the child off her shoulder and settled her onto Wilson's lap. Wilson uttered a gasp in protest, but seemed unable to do more. The sleepy child squirmed on his lap, and he had no option but to cradle her head on his chest. Soon she settled into the deep breathing of sleep, and he felt her melt onto his body. For minutes, he was paralyzed; her presence was electric. He forgot everything else in the room, focusing on the incredible creature in his lap. He watched her flex her chubby little fingers. He marveled at the round, soft face, and breathed in the smells of baby powder. Her skin was a shade lighter than her mothers. He sat very still so that she wouldn't wake. He had no desire for the child to wake and discover her circumstances. He could imagine her round, dark eyes erupting in horror as she scrambled off his lap.

He had little experience with children. He never babysat, and he married women who were interested in careers, and were ready for children only after the marriage had become tenuous. Wilson knew that babies didn't fix marriages, and so he never let it happen. Children were a sacred thing to Wilson. He grew up with a great mom and dad, and he wanted the same for any child he helped to create.

Melvine stepped out with the oldest two girls who needed to use the restroom, and the room became quiet. Wilson found himself feeling incredibly sad, and it dawned on him that holding this child reminded him the last time he held a child. He was new at Plainsboro, and had just started working in Oncology. There was a child, smaller than the one currently in his lap, who had leukemia. Her name was Liliana, and her mother was a poor woman from Columbia. It was clear from the moment he met her that Liliana was not long for this world. Her body had stopped growing, and her hair had fallen out, but she had the bright smile of a child who had no idea that life could be any different than this. Wilson used to linger in her room, making faces and playing games with her. Her mother who spoke no English always sat quietly beside her bed, her hands folded, and smiled at his antics.

One day, he came in and Liliana was sitting alone. Her mother, through lack of sleep and lousy diet, had come down with pneumonia, and wasn't allowed to visit Liliana. The tiny child looked lost, and she didn't respond to any of his games or tricks. The nurses were doing the best they could; coming in to hug her and whisper sweet things into her ear, but they didn't have time to do anything more. Wilson left her with a knot in his throat.

The next night, Liliana looked considerably weaker and Wilson could tell she had no chance at thriving without her mother, but it was impossible because the woman had been admitted with a fever and double pneumonia just hours earlier. He sat down with Liliana, and tried a couple of tricks. Her eyes were lifeless, and she lay limply on the bed beside him. He was at a loss, and ready to leave when he remembered that Liliana's mother sang to her every night. Wilson knew none of those lullabies, but he was a veteran of four years of high school choir, and he had a nice tenor. He started in with a version of _Frere Jacques_ that he punctuated with humming when he couldn't remember the words. Then he tried _Hush little baby_, inventing choruses beyond what he could remember. The child crawled closer to him, and he realized she needed contact. He picked her up and carried her to the rocking chair in the corner. She rested her head on his chest much like the curly head resting there now. Over and over, he sang the two lullabies he knew, rocking her while she clung tightly to him.

He fell asleep before she did, and they stayed that way until a nurse woke him at 5 a.m. so she could give Liliana some medication. He felt slightly embarrassed to be caught like this, not realizing that he had cemented his way into the hearts of the nursing staff forever.

Liliana's mother was well enough to visit her the very next night. By the end of the week, the woman was again camped out in a chair next to Liliana's bed. The child died a week later. It took Wilson a year before he could touch a patient and not think of her small, fragile body in his arms.

"Her name is Magdalena. You can call her Maggie." Wilson was startled out of his reverie by the drowsy voice of Conni Sandoval.

"Uh, she's a beautiful child," he stammered.

Conni smiled. "She's my baby. I don't think she wants to grow up."

"Are you getting help at home? Chemotherapy can fatigue tremendously, and I am sure that three children are a lot of work. It's important to not work yourself too hard."

"Yes, Dr. Wilson, I understand," he could feel her teasing. "I have a sister who stays with us at night. She is a gift from God. What about you? Who takes care of you at night?"

"Well, actually, I am staying alone right now. Was staying with a friend, but I needed space, my own things; you know."

"There is no one to cook for you; no one to clean."

"No, there is a woman whom I've never met who cleans and cooks. She's always gone by the time I get home. I really have nothing I have to do, but get into bed and sleep."

"It seems sad to me that you're alone like that."

Wilson was lost as to how to respond. It was sad. Oftentimes, he didn't even turn on lights. He just stripped and fell into bed. He was seldom able to eat food until he woke up the next morning. Always a lanky man; he knew that the shadows and sharp angles of weight loss were beginning to show. His thick, brown hair was starting to fall out in chunks. She could see he was uncomfortable and lapsed into silence.

The child stirred, and he found two dark eyes staring at him. He waited for her to dart away, but she stayed, looking over at her mother to orient herself.

Conni smiled at her and cooed, "How's my big girl? I see you're making friends with James. I think he's happy to have a new friend like you."

The child sat up, her curls matted on one side of her face. She looked at him again. "Read to me, James." Without waiting for a reply, she scrambled off his lap, and pulled a book out of her sister's knapsack. Then she climbed back into his lap as if it was the most natural thing in the world and shoved a book into his hands. A rather bright cover that read Curious George stared back at him. She looked up at him with her head cocked, and he blinked back at her. Her gaze was unwavering, and so he cleared his throat and opened the cover.

………………………………………………………………………………………..

House slapped the CT scan results onto the wall, and then turned to frown at his team.

"He said it would be a millimeter larger, and he was exactly correct."

Cameron let out a huge sigh and hung her head. Foreman closed his eyes and slowly shook his head. Standing in the back with her arms folded across her chest, Lisa Cuddy bit her bottom lip.

"We're not doing enough," House concluded, glaring at them.

Chase rolled his eyes in exasperation. "We're doing everything humanly possible. We have researched different treatments for weeks. This is it. Sometimes, a tumor just gets bigger no matter what we do."

"It's not good enough."

Chase stood up, planting his hands on the table. "Look, I get this is hard. This is personal for you. We all like Wilson. Nobody wants him to die, but sometimes we are not in control. And I am not interested in taking the blame here. We've been working 14 hour days, and have passed up several cases to do this. And we don't even know what this is. We don't know that we can impact his cancer at all. We're diagnosticians, and you want us to turn on a dime and be oncologists."

"Chase, sit down," Foreman sat in a low voice.

"You're off the case," House said quietly, turning to remove the scans from the wall.

"You're not serious!" Chase stood.

"House," Cuddy began.

House put the scans in the folder as if oblivious to the tension rising around him. He started to exit, stopped and said, "I won't tolerate your pessimism, not in this case."

Chase threw his hands up. "It's realism! You've always said that we need to stare it straight in the face. That's what I'm doing. You have to face it, House, there's a good chance Wilson's not going to be around anymore to cover your ass. You're going to be alone without anyone to translate for you. This is tough for us too. Wilson plays defense, he's your voice of reason and he's our sanity. How long do you think we'll last without him?"

House cocked his head. "You're right. Wilson is the voice of reason. In fact, he wanted me to fire you last year. I should listen to him more." He left without another word.

Cameron got up to follow, but Cuddy reached over and grabbed her arm. "Let him be."

Cameron protested, "I want him to know I don't agree with Chase."

"That's not why he left. He's not ready to talk about losing Wilson."

Chase dropped back into his chair. "Did I just get fired?"

Foreman snorted, "We should be so lucky."

Cuddy sighed, standing up. "House never fires anybody." She stopped at the doorway and turned. "Just be clear, Chase, Wilson is not the reason any of you came or stayed here at Plainsboro." She disappeared before he could respond.

He looked at his team mates, but Foreman was too mad to meet his eyes, and Cameron was already at the door, coat in hand, undoubtedly on a mission to find House.

……………………………………………………………………………..

Chase leaned over the railing on the roof of the hospital. It was cold, but he ignored the shivers running up and down his spine. Wind whipped his hair around, though he made no effort to try and control it. Instead, he stared out over the urban sprawl of New Jersey. Sometimes, he ached for his home. Australia was, in turns, beautiful, desolate, and wild. People seemed to know where they stood there. There was no disconnect between a man's thoughts and his words; a man said what he meant.

Here, he was stumbling over himself at every turn. Most times, he chose the most passive response he could think of; it seemed the safest thing. But, as usual, his passions got the better of him, and now he was getting nothing but hard looks from everyone he knew. It would be easy to say he didn't care if it was only true. He cared a lot, about all of them, even the crippled man with the sharp tongue who seemed to delight in embarrassing him.

Behind him the door swung open, but he didn't move. It was undoubtedly one of the nurses sneaking up for a smoke. It was one of the few places Cuddy's hyper vigilant eye missed. It startled him when a figure leaned over the railing next to him. One look at Wilson's pale, gaunt face and he closed his eyes in shame.

"So I hear you think I'm going to die, huh?"

Chase's head dropped into his elbows.

Wilson chuckled. "Sorry Chase, I had to do it. I heard you really stuck your foot in it."

His head came up and he shouted with his arms, "I'm not an oncologist!"

"I know. Calm down. I'm not that worried about your prognosis. I have seen this disease go in too many directions too many times to settle on my fate so easily."

"Did House tell you what I said to him?"

Wilson shook his head. "House took off without doing his clinic hours. Cuddy filled me in while she was cursing him. Said you had some harsh parting shots for him."

Chase pushed the hair away from his face. "He has said so many lousy things to people, and I fight back once, and I'm the one who should feel terrible."

"Who says you should feel terrible?"

"I don't know. Everyone, I guess. Or maybe I just feel terrible."

"Well, House is terrible. Even I know that. But there is almost always a method to his madness."

Chase snorted, the wind whipping hair back into his face once again. "He has a good reason for acting how he does. It's his leg, right? He can't be civil because of the pain in his leg."

"No, he was really quite a bear before he had his infarction. House motivates."

Chase made a face.

Wilson shrugged and continued. "House is working with the brightest of the bright, you know, like you. It's easy for people like you to fall into the trap of arrogance or a sense of satisfaction with what you know. He pushes you beyond that. A good doctor always knows how much he doesn't know. House preys on your comfort. He wants you on the edge, questioning, searching. It's when you do our best work. He doesn't want you to relax into your brilliance, settle into a specialty, and then get lazy about continuing education. House pushes on your weaknesses. He doesn't want you to settle for good enough."

"If that's true, then he's the most toxic cheerleader I've ever met."

Wilson chuckled. "That he is."

"What am I going to do? He's probably commissioning a voodoo doll of me as we speak."

Wilson arched his brow. "I suspect that if you got your ass down there and did his clinic hours, all will be forgiven."

"Really?"

Wilson smiled at the earnestness in the young man. "Well, okay, take his hours for the rest of the week, and I promise you he'll never speak of this day again."

Chase smiled and stood up straight. Before Wilson could say any more, he was headed for the roof entrance. Wilson stayed there for awhile. He was really impressed with his own sang-froid. He had done an excellent job pooh-poohing his own possible demise. He was feeling glad that Chase left so abruptly; he wasn't sure how long he would have been able to keep up that façade. He turned into the cool wind and felt it beat at his face, and, in that moment, he found himself savoring the sensation of living.

………………………………………………………………………….

It was hours before Cameron stumbled on him holed up in his office; the last place anyone would expect to find him. She stopped before his door, watching him hunched over his computer. Journals spilled over the edges of his desk. She spotted his portable TV perched on the shelf above his desk, and it suddenly dawned on her that she hadn't seen him watch in quite awhile. She wondered if it coincided with Wilson's diagnosis.

She wanted to go in, be soft, acknowledge his feelings, but she knew he would reject it sharply. A part of her recognized that he didn't like her hurting her feelings, and she decided to give him one less thing to feel lousy about. Instead, she leaned her head against the glass and waited. She knew that this would take him hours, but she wasn't gong home until he did. Maybe later, she would go down to the lab, and check the results from the blood samples they had taken earlier that day. She could try and tie it to the article out of Germany on cancer cell variation and their connection to hormone levels.

But for now, she was rooted to the spot, wistful in her desire to be something for the man inside the room. She bit her lower lip, and resolved that she would leave him alone for tonight, letting him chose his own process for this journey.

…………………………………………………………………………………………..

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: It's been a busy week, but I had some hours today and knocked out most of this chapter. This chapter feels risky to me. It's just that I am taking it where I want. I think with writing you have to go with your gut regardless of what you perceive to be popular sentiment. I hope that this will continue to be compelling for you all. I really like writing it. Thanks for reading, and thanks for taking time to write me a few words. It means a lot to me.

Sheila

**Heart Cancer**

**Chapter 7**

He came in the room for the first time, ducking his head a little, despite more than adequate height in the doorway. She looked up and sighed, pushing her glasses down to the tip of her nose, and glaring at him.

"So, Melvine, we finally meet."

"I'm not in the mood for your antics," she said.

"Me neither. It gets tiring always having to entertain with a superior wit. Let's call a truce. I'll leave my personality at the door, and you let me in to see Wilson."

"You responsible for the amount of chemo he's getting these days?" She pushed her glasses up to her eyes again and returned to her paperwork.

"How's he handling it?"

"Don't underestimate the exhaustion and depression that can accompany this much chemo."

House let out a rush of air, "Any suggestions?"

"Stop letting him go home to an empty house. Makes it worse. And he needs fresh air. Get him outside for a walk. It can help the nausea."

He gestured at his cane. "Not much for long walks."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Well, improvise then. I'm sure somebody would be happy to get him outside for awhile."

"Okay, it's done. Now I need something from you."

She narrowed her dark brown eyes at him.

"I need you to call me if you notice anything. He's hiding the headaches from me, and God knows what else. And I want you to start coming to the care conferences. I need every perspective I can get."

She folded her arms across her ample chest. "We're not on my turf I come to your office. You think you can behave yourself?"

He shook his head. "Absolutely not. Behaving is for old ladies, Republicans, and people with more than one DUI."

A muffled snort escaped her, and she struggled to regain her composure. She bit her lower lip, and shook a manicured finger at him. "Don't test me, Stick man."

"Okay, big chocolate marshmallow lady."

She glared at him, and he pointed at her. "You started it. You could be referring to my rather gaunt frame or the infirmity I have which gives cause for my cane. I could be very sensitive about my appearance. You don't know."

She stood, her hands on her hips. "Chocolate marshmallow lady?"

He shrugged, "You stunned me with your rapier wit; I fumbled. But I will be ready next time. Mark my words."

She narrowed her eyes. "I do not find you one bit cute or disarming or any of that other crap you think women fall for. So, just remember; when you are in Melvine's house, you play by Melvine's rules. Understood?" She regarded for a moment in full glare. Then she turned and motioned for him to follow. She opened a door and pulled curtains aside to reveal a rather crowded room. Two girls did homework at a table with a young woman with long, dark hair, checking their answers. A striking Latina woman was getting chemo, a sleepy look on her face, and his friend, Wilson, was sitting up, reading about ballet dancing mice to a small child with wild curls.

Melvine stopped and announced, "Look who's here."

Six faces looked up at them. House suddenly felt like a kid wearing underpants on his head. Wilson looked flustered. He snapped the book shut and sat up straight. "House!"

"Why didn't I get invited to this wedding? Was it the gift issue? I've bought you three already, but I would have sprung for a fourth."

Wilson took a deep breath. "This is my friend, Dr. Gregory House, world renown diagnostician and pain in the--" He glanced down at Maggie, "posterior." Wilson gestured at Conni and her children," "House, this is Conni Sandoval, her sister, Marta, and her three children, Isabella, Melinda, and Magdalena."

The five females looked him up and down. Conni had a distinct frown on her face. "We've met."

"Ah, sorry about that. Wilson assured me that he was ready for visitors."

Wilson looked at the ceiling for a moment. "Okay, well that's nice. So House, what can I do for you?"

"I have news. We need to talk."

He gestured at the line buried in his arm. "Not a great time as you can see."

"Melvine here assures me that you have no more than twenty minutes left. I can wait, and then maybe we could go for a little walk. It's a beautiful fall day outside."

Wilson furrowed his brow in confusion. "You want to go for a walk? Outside?"

"Then tonight you're coming over for a sleep over. Melvine's idea. We're going to make chocolate chip cookies, and watch Steel Magnolias and call around to see if anyone has Prince Albert in a can."

Color rose on Wilson's face. "House, that's enough."

House stood there awkwardly for a moment, and Wilson realized that his jibes often covered his extreme self consciousness. Few people understood how shy Gregory House really was. So he sighed and gestured, "Hey! Come on over. Here's a chair. Maggie's got me deep into this story about a mouse named Olivia who can dance. Check it out. We'll start from the beginning." House shifted from one foot to the other, and didn't respond. Then a sharp little voice piped in. "Come on, House. Sit! We need to read about Olivia. She's very cool, and she wears a tutu." The curly headed child was waving him over with a chubby hand. There was something about her bossy demeanor and those bright eyes that appealed to him, and he made his way over, allowing the child to point out his chair and order him to sit.

…………………………………………………………………………………….

Leaves were crisp beneath their feet as they slowly shuffled through the park square across from the hospital. Wilson appreciated the slow pace set for him. Few trees had any foliage left, but still he admired the skeleton canopy above them. In many ways, it was cliché, but the appreciation of little things did take on greater meaning when facing one's mortality. House cleared his throat, and Wilson stiffened slightly. It was clear that this was not a conversation that either one of them wanted to have. House gestured at a bench. Wilson sat down gingerly, and looked up at his solemn friend.

"I think we have a solution," he began.

Wilson breathed in deeply; though not feeling any sense of relief. House's demeanor suggested that this would be an inelegant solution at best.

"Chase stayed up all night like a good boy, and found something interesting by looking over some studies on lung cancer."

"Isn't that a little south of our focus?"

House squinted into the sun. "At Abbott Northwestern in Minneapolis last year, they operated on a tumor three millimeters beyond surgical limitations."

Wilson closed his eyes, shaking his head slightly. "I read about that. They cut out half, stabilized the guy for 12 hours, and then went in again for the other half."

"Chase called around. The guy is still cancer free."

Wilson opened his eyes. "As I recall, the guy was an athlete and had gone through no chemo before the procedure. The surgery is too hard on the human body. This happened under very specific circumstances."

"Foreman thinks we should cool you down, slow your metabolism for 4-6 hours so your body can rest, and then prep you for the second surgery."

Wilson looked skyward before replying, "So, you want to do a two part surgery on my brain that has never been done before based on a one time event involving someone with lung cancer, and you want to do it on a man who has been assaulted with high doses of chemo for the last month."

"Foreman is looking for a neurosurgeon as we speak."

"Tell him to not bother." Wilson pulled himself off the bench.

"We'll put together a team. We'll make this work."

"No," Wilson started to walk away.

House shook his head in frustration. "James, this might be our only chance."

Wilson stopped and turned around to face him. "I'm not some homemaker from Hoboken who's not smart enough to understand the risks and too intimidated to say no to you. You are too willing to roll the dice. You have to cure half your patients from your treatments before you can even treat the cause. Do you think the chemo took my common sense, Greg? The odds on this working…." He stopped to compose himself. "I would rather have nothing more than the last three months of my life than to die on the table tomorrow. That is essentially the choice you're giving me. You understand that, right?"

"James."

Wilson put a hand up to stop him, then turned and walked away. House whirled around and cursed at the sky. When he turned around, Wilson had already crossed the street to the hospital.

…………………………………………………………………………………………..

House growled at her, there was no more civilized word for it. Lisa Cuddy ignored him, and perched on the bar stool beside him. She caught the bartender's eye and ordered a bourbon neat for her and another scotch for him.

"You didn't really think he'd jump at the idea, did you?"

"He's an idiot."

She rolled her eyes. "This from the guy who risked his life to save his leg."

He scowled at her. "Are you here for a reason?"

"You're not the only one scared to lose him. He's my friend too. He said no. We have to respect that for right now, but I have an idea."

The door to the bar opened and House looked over. Three women came in, laughing and talking. House sighed and looked down at the bar.

"You really think he's going to come?"

He shrugged. "This is where he drowns himself in whiskey when he's upset. Wilson's nothing if not a creature of habit."

The door opened again, and Chase and Foreman came in. They settled themselves at the bar next to House. Chase asked for a beer and Foreman, a bottled water. House glared at them. "I told you to sit on his place."

"Foreman paid the kid across the street fifty bucks to watch, another fifty if he calls when Wilson shows." Chase picked up his long neck, and took a swig.

Cuddy screwed up her face. "What is this? NYPD Blue."

"You really want me to stake out a townhouse in a white neighborhood? I'm not going to stand out at all. Really great idea, you know." Foreman growled, hunched over his water bottle.

"You're worthless; both of you. At least, I can count on Cameron to wait for him at the hospital."

Chase sighed. "I called her twenty minutes ago. She should be here any minute."

"Idiots!"

"House, it's a lousy idea. I'm the one that brought the article to you, and even I know this isn't going to work."

Foreman looked over. "There isn't a neurosurgeon on the Eastern seaboard willing to touch this. I talked to thirteen of the best already."

House pounded the bar. The bartender looked up in surprise. "You don't work for me if you want to stay with safe! You don't work for me if you're afraid to take risks! This is what we do!"

Cuddy rubbed at her temples. "Knock it off, House. They're right. You only have half a plan. There're too many risks."

House's face turned red. "So your solution is to roll over and play dead. Perfect! It's good to know where you stand."

Cuddy hopped off the stool. "Yeah, that's me. Playing dead is what I do. Look guys, all of you are banging your heads against a brick wall." She pointed at Chase and Foreman. "You two because you refuse to think big," she turned to House. "And you because you're pushing too hard. You stopped thinking at all. I think I'll just leave, and go play dead somewhere else."

House visibly deflated. She bit her lower lip, watching him. "Listen to me, House. I do have an idea. I called Minneapolis today. I'm bringing the lung tumor guys in. Let's get some other people together and workshop this thing. That's the only way we'll know if this thing floats or not. They're going to be here in three days. Do you think you can find some people to sit in on this?"

His eyes widened slightly. Then he turned to his team. "Foreman, get me two of those prissy, no-good neurosurgeons you know. Find someone with a little bit of creativity. Chase, I need Sloan there, and someone else from Oncology. And round up a couple of anesthesiologists. We're not giving up on this until we explore every angle of it."

Chase had a new longneck in his hand, ready to take a drink when House snapped. "Don't just sit there. It's not even 10 p.m. Get on the phone. We want a full day out of these people. Go!"

Chase and Foreman pushed away from the bar in exasperation, and headed out. They ran into Cameron at the door. "Take her with you," House barked. Foreman turned her around and pushed her out the door in front of him.

Cuddy stood regarding him, her arms folded. "Feeling better?"

"Not at all." House signaled for more drinks. "But at least, we have something to do now."

Cuddy nodded, sitting down again as he pushed a new bourbon in her direction.

……………………………………………………………………………………….

Wilson found himself in a neighborhood far different than the one he lived in. For a few minutes, he just leaned against the door of his car and looked at the worn brownstone in front of him. A couple of kids walked by, hunched over, and Wilson tensed. They stopped and looked him over; one said something to the other and they started laughing. Wilson breathed a sigh of relief when they moved on. He looked up at the brownstone again, took a deep breath, and climbed the stairs.

Conni answered almost immediately. Her eyes widened, and then she looked behind him. Finally convinced he was alone, she let him in the apartment. The living room was small but neat; photographs crowding the walls and flat surfaces. He looked for the little girls, and found that he was disappointed when he realized that they were probably in their beds for the night. Through the living room, he saw her sister, Marta, sitting at a small kitchen table. A muscular young man sat across the table, giving Wilson a hard look.

Wilson risked a small grin, realizing that he belonged in this room under almost no possible circumstances. Conni moved next to him. "Come. Sit down, James. Tell us what brings you here this evening."

Wilson shook his head, his hands buried deeply in the pockets of his overcoat. "No, I don't want to take too much time. I was…in the neighborhood, and thought…"

A smile grew on her face. "You were in the neighborhood, huh?"

He shifted awkwardly. "Conni, I thought maybe we could go for a walk."

"In this neighborhood? In the dark?"

In the background, Marta giggled.

Wilson colored slightly. "You're right. I didn't think…Listen, it's late. I shouldn't have stopped, but, hey, I'll see you…um, in a couple of days, right?"

Conni looked at him with a strange look on her face. Then she turned to her sister, "Marta, can you watch the girls? James and I are going down to the diner on fifth and Lowry."

Marta nodded, and then slapped at the young man who still wore a wary look on his face. "Me and Hector will be just fine."

Conni spoke in a stream of consciousness all the way there. She explained Hector as being Marta's boyfriend or fiancée, it depended on the week. She said Marta was three years younger and had started dating him when she was only fourteen, and they had all worried and tried to interfere, but Marta was defiant. Hector had turned out to be a good guy who had hung around for the last six years and had a good job as a mechanic in a garage, and now, the only yelling Conni did was when Marta thought about dating other guys, and then went on to list a group of no-good boys that hung around Marta when Hector was at work. Wilson nodded attentively although generally lost as to who was who in her narrative.

He was rather grateful when they finally sat down, and she looked him in the eye and said, "So what's all this about? Trolling for a little latin booty?"

He leaned forward, "Can I talk to you? You know, really say what's on my mind. I get the sense that I could do that with you."

Her shiny black eyes blinked. "Sure…I guess."

He sat back and let out a breath of air. "Good. I need to talk to someone. I have friends, but I never realized until this evening that every last person who means something to me, works with me, and they're a little biased right now."

"Okay, James, tell me more."

"I don't really know why I'm here. I can guess. It probably has to do with the fact that you're a beautiful woman. I like women. I flirt. Worse, I fall in love…a lot. And I know that is not the right thing to do here, so let's just be clear that I am aware of my…weaknesses."

Her mouth twitched and so she buried her face in a hot cup of coffee that the waitress placed before her, careful not to meet his eyes.

"But I think it's more. I just need to talk to someone, and I thought of you, and what a bad idea that would be, and yet I ended up on your doorstep."

She breathed in the steam from her coffee and then looked at him. "So tell me what happened."

He looked away and then chuckled. "I don't know. More treatments; a tumor that isn't shrinking. I do this work. I know what comes next. And I'm not ready. I'm fighting everything they are trying to do."

"More treatments? What does that mean?"

He waved his hand over his shoulder. "Stupid, invasive procedures that will undoubtedly rob me of whatever little freedom I have left."

"I don't understand."

"I have seen this so many times. There's something new and risky that could make all the difference, and the patient gets excited, and then it doesn't deliver as promised, but the damage is done. The patient's body is too tired to recover. A walking, talking, smiling person is reduced to a semi-comatose patient in the matter of a week, and then they never regain footing again."

Her brows furrowed and she looked away. "Is that what's going to happen to you…to me?"

Wilson dropped his eyes to the table. "I'm not only a jerk, but now I have become a moron. No, Conni, I'm sorry. I have no reason to think that this would happen to you. This is about me. House, my friend, has a procedure he wants to do. Very risky. There's an outside chance that it could make all the difference in the world. But I'm not ready. And by the time I am ready, it will probably be too late."

"What are your chances if you don't do it?"

Wilson snorted, "Who knows? The fact that the tumor is growing is not good. It's big; too big."

"If you were the oncologist on this case, would you recommend the procedure to your patient?"

"It would be unethical. It's not even a procedure yet. Right now, it is only an idea."

"What are your choices?"

He looked at her intently. She already had grasped that this was not a simple yes or no decision. "I could go out and live my life right now. I would have maybe three months. I could do things I had always dreaming of doing. And then, maybe, when I couldn't anymore, I could look back and not feel so many regrets. Or I could stay and grasp at straws, hoping that something would take hold and make a difference. If I choose that route, I have pretty much resigned myself to a hospital bed for the rest of my life unless something fairly miraculous occurs. Conni, what would you do?"

She reached over and closed her long, warm fingers over his hands. "I would spend every last minute with the people I loved, whether it be in a hospital bed or on a beach in Tahiti. My kids are everything to me."

"Yeah, but I got no kids. I got a wife, but we're separated, and I should be missing her a hell of a lot more than I am. I have my parents, but I'm not quite ready to devastate them yet. Other than that, I have my friends at PPTH. It's dysfunctional at best, but…it's what I have."

"House is your friend."

"I am oddly dependent on him. In fact, I am a little lost when he's not around. God knows, there's no physical attraction, but he's very important to me. I was…rather cruel to him today. I feel pretty lousy about it, but he's pushed me, and I reacted."

She squeezed his hands. "So you know the answer then. It's not time."

He closed his eyes and let her hands warm his. "This will be hard for them especially House. He needs to be able to solve this."

"Then he'll have to be patient."

Wilson opened his eyes and chuckled. "He'll love that."

She nodded. "James, I am happy to be your friend. It's a good thing. More than friends is a very complicated thing, and I don't think either one of us has the energy for that."

Wilson blushed. "You're right, but just remember that kind and beautiful women are a particular weakness of mine. Don't be surprised if I end up a little smitten."

She smiled. "Thanks for the warning. I guess I'll have to take the risk."

He was happy that she didn't let go of his hands right away. The touch of a woman was addicting, and her warmth felt like a tonic for his tired soul.

…………………………………………………………………………


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Hi! It's been a busy week. Sorry it took so long to post. I appreciate everyone's support for this story. For those of you that have read me before, you know I don't make it easy, but I have a plan and I know where it is going and I predict that I will be done in less than fifteen chapters. It rocks writing House. I don't know why, but I appreciate the break from CSI right now. And, how excited are we all that there is a new episode this week. Thanks again for letting me know that you are reading. It means a lot.

Sheila

Heart Cancer

Chapter 8

He looked at them from every angle for an hour. The blood tests were drawn twice to make sure. Biopsy results lay next to them, but he ignored their stark reality and walked back to the first film in the series. Hands on his hips, he tried again, squinting at the hazy picture of her lungs. The dots like pellets from a BB gun peppered the lower quadrant of her right lung. In her left lung, they clustered in the upper part. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine the surgical path they would take to remove the cancer. He bit his lip and concentrated. After awhile, he let a deep sigh and shook his head. There was really nothing to imagine. There was no surgical procedure to remove all of this. There would be no surgery for her. Further chemo would become a quality of life issue. She would have months to live, and then her lungs would literally choke the life out of her.

His life had become this macabre dance with mortality with himself and now with her, and he wanted nothing more than to escape it all. The anger and outrage were gone; they had been replaced with a wearying numbness he felt through his entire body. He leaned against the wall, and hung his head. His beeper went off, but he ignored it. It rattled in his breast pocket three more times before he picked it up. It was Dr. Oliver, the new oncologist on his staff. She was calling to report that she had talked to Conni Sandoval. The news had been delivered. Wilson should have been there. He was the head of the department, and he was her friend, but he couldn't find the courage to look her in the eye and tell her she would have to say good-bye to her three children. He thanked Dr. Oliver and put his pager down on the counter, and as he walked out of the lab, his pager started to buzz again, he turned to look at it, but then left it dancing on the counter as the door shut behind him.

………………………………………………………………………………………..

Lisa Cuddy played her fingers nervously along the edges of his letter. She smiled perfunctorily at him, but couldn't seem to meet his eyes. "I don't really need anything this formal, James."

"It's better this way. I can't give the attention to this department that it needs." He sat straight, hands folded in his lap, reminding Cuddy of a stiff chemistry professor she once had.

She nodded, and then slowly tore the letter down the middle.

"Dammit Lisa, I need you to take this seriously." He shook his head in frustration.

She leaned forward, extending her hand. Wilson ignored it. "I do. I do! I just think a leave of absence makes more sense."

His anger grew. "Then the department sits in limbo with an interim for months before you even begin a decent search. We have built a reputation, but we will lose it in a few months if we're not smart about this."

She sat back and regarded him intently. Slowly, she spoke, "I am being smart. It's important to protect my investment. You're my investment, and I think you're going to be back and better than ever in a few months. I am not willing to let you just sit on the open market. You have a contract, Dr. Wilson, and as your boss, this is the option I am giving you."

"I'm a bad bet."

She stared at him, her eyes growing hot. "I am not letting you go. You need to figure out how to make this work because you have three months, and then we're really going to need you back."

He froze for a moment, and then leaned forward. "We have to be reasonable about this, Lisa."

She blinked. "No, really, we don't. Now, unless you have something more to talk about…on a different topic, then I really need to ask that you excuse me right now. I have a lot of work to do."

She returned to the papers on her desk. After a moment, she looked up to find him still staring at her. "Really, James, you have to get your shit together and find me an interim. I want this transition to be seamless. Okay?"

He let out a deep breath and nodded. Slowly he got up, and walked out of her office without another word. She waited until he was gone before picking up the phone. "House! I just talked to Wilson, and he is not doing well…I don't give a crap what you're not good at. You're his best friend. You will find whatever crumbs of warmth and support you have inside you and get on top of this situation…I mean it. We're not losing him. You hear me?" She hung up, and pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to stem the stream of moisture welling in her eyes.

…………………………………………………………………………………

Wilson's office was literally dismantled around him by the time House arrived. It was something of a shock to see his friend in the midst of such disarray; the man was usually meticulous about his surroundings. Wilson turned and regarded him with his hands on his hips, a look of defiance growing on his face.

House leaned on his cane, "Cuddy says you're taking a leave."

"Don't argue with me about this."

House shrugged. "Why would I? It's a great idea. I'm jealous. You know how much I hate to work. I could be sitting at home in front of a plasma screen TV, watching General Hospital in high resolution. I can't believe I didn't think of it. From where I stand, you're the luckiest dog in the world."

Wilson rolled his eyes and returned back to his packing.

House cleared his throat. "I am a little confused though as to why you are packing up. It's only three months. Surely, you can't be expecting the interim chief to use your office."

Bending over a box of books, Wilson spoke, "I'm asking Samuelson. He's qualified, hardworking; he'll do a good job."

"Well, he's not moving next door to me."

Wilson sighed and looked up. "The two of you will do fine together."

"I'll set fire to him if he takes this office. I swear I will."

Wilson chuckled wearily. "You didn't like me in the beginning either."

"He doesn't need to move in here for three months. Put your things back."

He ignored House for a few minutes, packing the last items in a box and taping it shut. Then he pulled himself to his feet with some considerable effort. He sat in his leather chair and looked at House. "I was really unfair to you the other day. I'm sorry. I do trust you."

House nodded. "You know, we have some people coming in tomorrow. We're going to take a deeper look at doing this procedure. It would be good to have you there."

Wilson shook his head. "No interest. Sorry."

House nodded slowly and tried again, "I heard your chemo friend, Mrs. Sandoval, got a bad bit of news."

Wilson stopped what he was doing and shook his head, "You know, Greg, it seems remarkable to me that I ever thought there was something noble about oncology. I think I believed I was doing something real; something important. Now it feels like I have spent these years as some sort of death merchant; handing out death sentences to some, free passes for others."

House leaned on the arm of a chair. "You brought the five year survival rate for pancreatic cancer up 5 for this hospital. People still talk about it in hushed tones like it was a virgin birth or something. You do remember that, don't you?"

"Maybe," he said, stroking the fine mahogany of his desk. "But I don't feel it anymore, and that's what counts."

"God, I wish you could hear yourself. It's classic treatment fatigue. You're tired, feeling like shit, the tide hasn't turned for you, and then on top of it all, you find out a friend in the same boat is terminal." He shook his head, chuckling. "When I have a patient in this predicament, I go to you. You're the one person who can always turn this around, always have been, but now you're the one in it and I have no Wilson to guide me."

He let out a heavy sigh. "You're right, of course, but it doesn't help. I have no feeling for this anymore."

"For one minute, James, be the doctor again. Tell me what to do. What would you say to a patient in this situation?"

Wilson looked down for a minute. "I don't know anymore. Before this, I probably would have encouraged him to surround himself with his support system. I would have told him to seek counsel with the ones who loved him most. Now, I don't know. I don't think anyone, no matter how much they love you, can understand what this is like."

"And you're the poor slob who's stuck with me as your support system. We're in some big trouble, my friend."

Wilson grinned at him, and it struck House that it had been a very long time since he'd seen him smile.

House tried to stem the feeling of dread that constantly crept into his gut. "I can't give up on this. No matter what you want, I'm not giving up."

"So…I can expect you to slip me something like you did with Stacy's husband last year so that you can do whatever procedure you choose whenever you want."

House let out a deep breath. "If I thought I could get away with it, I'd do it in a heartbeat."

Wilson stared at him intently for a moment. "You're going to think this is stupid, but I used to wonder if I mattered to you at all. I used to wonder if I was sort of a convenient foil for you; you know, the affable guy who's easy to hang around because he doesn't challenge complicated guy much. And I guess I need you to know that I don't wonder about that anymore. If you're half as desperate as I was five years ago when you had your infarction, then I suspect that life must be pretty hard for you right now. And I'm truly sorry about that."

House felt paralyzed. His mouth opened and he worked it a little, but he seemed incapable of a verbal response. Wilson saw this and nodded his head once. Then he turned to his file cabinet and began transferring files to boxes. He let House sit there for as long as he needed, and then he purposefully didn't look up when House finally got up and left.

……………………………………………………………………………

She called from a car, and it took him fifteen minutes to coach her through the directions to his condo. It was late, and he stood at the window to watch for her. She arrived breathless, her cheeks red and eyes bright. She brushed past him, and began to pace back and forth the length of his living room. He was at a loss as to her state, and so he lowered himself into a chair and watched her. Finally, she stopped and faced him. "There's a place in Georgia, a clinic. They are successfully using Laetrile to cure cancer. The rate of remission is 63. They are willing to see me as soon as possible. You had to have known of possibilities like this. How could you keep this from me?"

Wilson closed his eyes. "Conni, it's a scam. They have been extracting Laetrile from apricot pits for thirty years. It doesn't cure cancer, and it doesn't put it into remission. They're lying to you."

"No!" She yelled. "There are testimonials, documentation."

He shook his head.

"Western medicine is afraid of it. That's why you won't pay attention."

"It doesn't matter what it is, if I thought banana splits helped, I would tell you. Laetrile doesn't work, and you're a smart woman so I suspect you are here because you know it's too good to be true, and you need someone to confirm it."

A short gasp of frustration escaped her and she walked away from him. He heard muffled noises, and he was conflicted. He wanted to go to her, but he wasn't sure what she wanted from him. Then she turned to him, her face wet. "I can't do this. My kids need me. My sister is too young to raise them. There has to be something we're not doing."

He stood up. "Conni, I wish there was, but your body is captive to a tumor that can't be removed. We have looked at the cells, and we know that this cancer is aggressive. We know that this type of cancer kills almost everyone it touches."

"How do I do this? I don't understand how this is done." She held her arms tightly around her middle.

He spoke gently. "I don't know. Some of us fight and some of us hide. But eventually, we have to come to terms with the situation, and we have to take care of the people we love, and let them take care of us, and then we complete the circle."

She snorted. "Where did you get that crap?"

He avoided her eyes.

"I'm so afraid of this. I'm afraid of the pain. I'm afraid that I can't do this well."

Wilson bit his lip. There were no platitudes for this.

"What should I do?" Her large eyes were pleading for his help.

He reached over and stroked her arm. "You should follow your heart and spend time with your girls and tell them everything you wish your mother had told you."

She nodded.

"And you should listen to your doctor, and come up with a pain management plan, and explore what options might prolong your life as long as it also preserves the quality of your life."

She let him pull her into his arms and hold her.

"Take a trip, Conni. Skydive. Swim with dolphins. Do things just because you want to. Forget diets and expectations and deadlines. Call up friends you haven't seen in years or fall in love with someone only because he has a kind smile. Just forget all the rules in life, and make this time all about you."

He stroked what remained of her dark, curly hair because it was right there, and he had often wondered how it would feel. She laid her head on his shoulder and stayed quiet for a long time. Then she looked up at him. "I don't have time to fall in love, James."

He blinked at her. Then she reached for his face and he pulled back. "I'm not really in the right place for this. We're both pretty vulnerable."

"But we don't have anything to lose," she whispered into his neck. The feel of her words sent shivers down his spine and he stood still, waiting. She spoke again, "I don't have time to fall in love, but there is a man with a kind smile, and I want to share some tenderness with him."

He sucked in breath, and let her reach for him. It was bittersweet, almost melancholy, the feeling in his gut as she took his hand and went in search of his bedroom. He was slow and gentle with her, and she allowed him to unbutton her blouse slowly as they kissed. For awhile they did nothing more than lay there, kissing, touching, exploring and whispering things to each other. There was no doubt that Wilson had experienced more passion at other times in his life, but he'd never felt so moved by another person. He kissed her tears, and was unafraid to let his own slide down his face. Lovemaking was long and deep, both of them taking their time as if there was nothing but in their lives.

For a long time, afterwards, they talked about their lives with each other, comparing the very different worlds they knew. He found himself drinking her in like a fine wine, pausing every once in awhile to catalogue a moment for memories. She drifted off before he did, so he lay next to her quietly, tracing lines in her beautiful brown skin, imagining that they weren't in a fight for their lives; imagining that they had a lifetime to know each other.

……………………………………………………………………………………..

She shook him awake just as the sun was rising. He rolled over and mumbled at her groggily. His head was starting to pound as it did most mornings now, and he winced at her through blurry eyes.

She stroked his hair and smiled. "Let's skydive."

"Huh?" He rubbed at his face.

"You said I should forget all the rules, do something I would never think possible. So let's skydive."

"Okay. You go. I'll watch."

"No! We do this together." She slapped his chest.

"Then we're going to have to do something that doesn't scare the hell out of me."

"Alright," she sat up, the sheet sliding down to her waist. "Think of something to do."

Wilson immediately knew what he felt like doing. He reached for her waist, and she clamped a hand down on his. "Yes, of course, that's obvious. We have plenty of time for that. Now think of something you've always wanted to do."

He rolled away from her, chuckling. "Conni, I wouldn't know wild if it bit me on the nose. I am very boring. I work and I work and I work. I haven't had a vacation that wasn't a medical conference since my last honeymoon."

She crawled over, climbing over him and straddling his waist. "James, tell me something you have always wanted."

He reached for her, and pulled her down to him. He started licking her neck until he got to her ear. Then he whispered softly, "Give me a few minutes. I'm sure I'll come up with something." Then he bit her ear playfully and rolled over so that he was straddling her. She smiled up at him, and he let himself, for a time, forget about everything but a beautiful woman with a laughing face.

…………………………………………………………………………………..

House saw the light flashing on his beeper when he woke. He groaned and reached for it. No one used his beeper to call him at night. His sleep medication was too strong for that. Most people called his regular phone which he had programmed to a high volume. He peered at the number on the display and was surprised to find Wilson's cell number. Wilson would surely know better than to page him in the night. He hit the message button. "Hey, it's me…Sorry…I needed to let you know what was going on, but I really wasn't up to the conversation…I'm fine. Feeling okay, in fact. I'm taking the headache meds…I hope that your impromptu conference is good. I hope that you find something useful…I am sorry I can't be there. I actually can't be anywhere for a while. I'm leaving. Temporary, of course. But I am going to be gone for some time. I think. I don't know. I can imagine you frowning right now. I won't be gone long, and I understand better than you do how important the chemo is, but I don't know how much time I have and I need to breathe and…I can't explain. I have turned off my cell, but I'll call you in a couple of days. I'm fine. Don't worry…although you would never tell me if you were. Do me a favor and let people care about you this week. You need it probably more than I do right now." The phone clicked and a dial tone sounded. House stared at his pager for a long minute. Then he drew his arm back and threw at the wall.

………………………………………………………………………..

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Sorry this chapter took so long. I am so busy and in that moment where chaos reigns. My textbooks lay on the floor around me mingled with make-up and tennis shoes. It's craziness. **Thanks for reading!** I don't know what else to say. I like my angsty stories, but I know they are not everyone's cup of tea so you all get gold stars for hanging in there with me. Yes, there is a little House/Cam energy. I couldn't help myself. It's starting to make sense for me.

Sheila

**Chapter 9**

**Heart Cancer**

Cuddy glared at him, her hands on her hips. He squinted at her for a moment, and returned to his game boy.

"They came all the way from Minnesota for this."

He shrugged in response, not looking up. "You act as if they walked."

"You have sat in that conference and said nothing. For four hours, you have been silent."

She could see him rolling his eyes at the tiny screen of his game.

"The least you could do is come with us out to lunch. They have been trying to engage you all day, and you have done nothing but sit there with a long face."

"Flash them a little thigh. Tell Cameron to unbutton her shirt a little. My gaydar says that Hanson would enjoy Chase sitting next to him. Take them out to that Italian place down by the civic center. It'll be great. Tell them I had to stay behind and see a patient."

She snorted, "If I say that in front of your team, someone's liable to choke to death."

"Tell them I'm reading Dr. Suess to the little cancer kids. Tell them I can't live without 'em."

She let out a deep breath. "He will come back. He's not stupid. He'll be back in a couple of days."

"Idiot!" House growled at the game.

"You know, I have a feeling that if you hadn't been too sick to leave, you would have done the same thing he did when you had your infarction."

House slammed the game down on the table. "Well, he's supposed to know better. We worked it out that way. I am the unpredictable one, and he is my faithful, reliable sidekick."

She rested her hand over her eyes for a moment as if tending a headache. "You know, House, you're really a piece of work. Could you be any more self-centered? Men. All of you; Wilson included. Truth is, there's only one reason a woman really wants a man around."

House's eyebrows jumped.

She pointed a finger in his face, "Don't even think about it, Mister. No remarks. You haven't earned them. You're too busy wallowing in your…your….miserable wrongheadedness to do anything but sit there and take it."

He blinked and creased his brow, looking puzzled.

"Have you told your team?"

"No," he growled. "And I'm not going to…yet. I don't want them distracted."

She dismissed him with a wave. "Go back to your stupid game. We'll make this happen without you." She turned and stalked out of the room, her thick, dark hair swinging back and forth across her back.

……………………………………………………………………………………….

He couldn't describe the feeling of warmth rising in him. The sand was cool between his toes, and a sweet wind massaged his face. Waves crashed against the shore, and, for a moment, he wondered why it sounded so different here than in New Jersey. Then he looked up into the clear night sky and saw stars as bright as diamonds in sunlight, and he knew he was really hearing the ocean and seeing the sky for the first time. Hands dug deeply into his chino pants, he imagined that he could stand here forever and be happy.

He never heard her approach and was startled to see her standing there, her long, black hair flying across her face. She didn't look much like her sister. Unlike Conni, she was shorter and wider, her hair was straight, but she had the same piercing black eyes although tonight they were red and puffy. For a moment, she just stood there swallowing hard, and then she turned her wounded eyes to him. "I can't believe you brought all of us here."

He looked back out on the ocean. "Is your room okay? You can get about anything you want here. Just say the word."

She laughed. "There is a bed in my room that is three times bigger than what I sleep on at home. I have a bathroom with a Jacuzzi in it: a real Jacuzzi. I'd have to say that I'm pretty satisfied."

He looked at her and nodded. "Good."

"This is costing you a fortune," she ventured, a worried look on her face.

He chuckled. "I make a lot of money, Marta, and rarely, do I have time to spend it. There are no financial worries."

"Do you love my sister?"

He threw his head back and laughed. "Marta, you have no idea what a dangerous question that is for me. Let's just say that we both needed paradise, and I had the means to get us there."

"Are you sure you want all of us here? Kids, me, Hector."

He patted her shoulder. "She wants everyone here. I wouldn't take her away from any of you. It would be the wrong thing to do with the kind of time she has left."

She swallowed again and looked down. He watched her struggle to compose herself and then he turned his attention back to the moonlit surf. He waited a few minutes before speaking. "Marta, she can't run around and sightsee. She needs to rest as much as possible. You and Hector can take the kids and explore the island. Hawaii has so many things to offer or so I've heard. I'll stay with her."

She nodded. "Well, maybe we should just stay here at the resort. They seem to have everything here."

He smiled at her. "We're going to be here for as long as she wants. Take your time. Explore. She needs her girls and she needs her rest. I'll make sure there is plenty of time for everything.

She nodded, her dark eyes shiny like onyx. "I can show her that Hector and I can do this. We can take care of the girls."

He returned his attention to the surf. A headache was surfacing, and he closed his eyes, concentrating on the smells, sounds, and feeling of paradise. When he opened his eyes sometime later, she was gone and he was alone standing in the sand, watching the tide drift away from the shore.

……………………………………………………………………………………

Dusk was falling outside his window, but he didn't bother to hit the light. He sat there at his desk fingering a yo-yo Wilson had given him after a particularly tough case the previous fall. It was a professional one; Wilson had ordered it. There had been no ceremony. He just dropped it on House's desk one day when House was going through a particularly rough spot. House had turned it over and over in his hand, never asking any questions. Finally, he gripped it expertly, and then tried it out. The yo-yo flew out and snapped back. House grinned as he inspected its balance and speed. Quietly, Wilson backed out of the office, leaving the man with his new toy. House thought back to those times when Wilson was only a minor catastrophe at life, and they had been able to focus most of their considerable energies on House's dysfunctions.

"Are you going to sit here in the dark all night?"

Startled, he looked up to see Cameron standing in front of his desk, a bag in each hand.

"What are you doing here?" He growled. "I thought you were going to get them off to the airport."

She nodded, smiling brightly. "Mission accomplished."

"The blonde one liked you."

She shrugged. "Not my type."

"Go home."

She reached over and hit the light, and then settled into a chair across from him, carefully setting her paper bags down beside her. "I felt like the day was promising, didn't you?"

He shook his head and looked away. "Wilson was right. There are too many risks."

"No, I don't think so. It's all about the timing. If we put this together right, foresee all possibilities, I think we can do this. We have all the right people thinking it through. Davis has all but signed on to do the surgery. We just need to figure out how to order it. Makasahi will do anesthesiology, and he's the best there is. I think-"

"Stop, Cameron!" He leaned forward, eyes blazing, and pounded his cane into the ground. "This surgery is not happening! Wilson won't do it! Hell, he's not even around to do it!"

She struggled not to jerk at his savage tone. Slowly, she whispered, "I know that."

"Cuddy told you?" He snorted. "She never listens to anyone."

"She didn't tell me." Cameron got up slowly and walked around his desk. He bristled at her proximity, but she ignored him, reaching across for his phone. She dialed in her code and then her extension. When her message sounded, she hit saved messages. She stepped back, giving him his space. A familiar voice sounded on the machine. "Allison, this is Wilson. Listen…I'm going out of town for a few days. I know it's ill-advised, but I really need the time to think…He's going to be mad, and I'm not ready to fight with him. He'll probably isolate himself or become increasingly abrasive…I'm telling you this because I'm worried…I need someone to take care of him for me, and you're it…I know you care about him and he needs that right now…If he gets grouchy, ignore him. If he gets sarcastic, challenge him, and if he gets lazy, pester him…I won't be there to prescribe, and even when I get back, who knows how long I'll be…Well, never mind, I just don't want him running off to harass some poor internist who has no idea who he or she is dealing with. He gets 80 (20 mg.) tabs a month. I know. It's a tremendous amount, but it's the best balance I can find. If you give him less, he'll find it another source, but under no circumstances, give him more than 80…Be patient with him, Allison. He hides his heart, but the truth is that he cares, sometimes more than any of us. And don't take any crap. He'll respect you if you don't back down…I'll see you soon…I don't know, maybe I'll call you to check on him. Thanks." The click and then a dial tone sounded. House reached over and hung up the phone.

Cameron walked over to her bags, and pulled out four foam take out containers and set them in front of him. She pulled out plastic knives and forks and napkins. Without a word, she opened a container and set a large, rib eye steak in front of him. He stared at it as if he had never seen a piece of sirloin before. She opened another container filled with au gratin potatoes and shoved it next to the steak. She popped open the chicken Caesar, scrapped half of it into a paper plate for herself, and then put the rest in front of him. With the fourth box, she started to open it; then thought better of it. She moved it over to the side.

He gestured at it with his head. "Death by Chocolate?"

She smiled. She pulled a six pack of Newcastle out of the other bag. She tried to twist it off and then realized that she needed an opener. He reached over and gently took it from her. He lined the top up against the side of his desk and skillfully popped the top off with the palm of his hand. Then he presented to her, and reached for one of his own.

"If this is your idea of taking care of me, I'll probably need a triple bypass before Wilson ever gets back."

Sometimes House could invoke such softness in his tone that it sent shivers down her back. She blushed and turned her attention to her salad.

She cleared her throat and said, "Tomorrow, we'll map out the procedure together. Foreman is doing some research on cooling him between surgeries, and Chase went into Manhattan to meet with Sloan Kettering's Frank Miller regarding pre-op oncological procedures for a tumor this size. We'll be ready to map it tomorrow around noon."

House kept his attention focused on his steak.

She reached over and placed a hand on his arm, ignoring the involuntary flinch he gave. "We need you. Wilson needs you. I know it's gotten too personal for you, but we need your head in the game again."

"It's a fool's game," he murmured.

She squeezed his arm. "Don't argue with me, House." She reached over and took his container away, grabbing his utensils and sawing away at the meat. "You only get half of this. The size of this thing is ridiculous. And no potatoes. You can have the steak and the salad and a little bit of the dessert."

He looked up in surprise. "You realize that 'taking care of me' is really a figurative statement at best. Wilson doesn't do any of this kind of stuff. In fact, he eats poorly right along side of me."

"Well, I'm putting you on notice; there's a new sheriff in town. I want you sharp and on top of this entire situation or you will spend the rest of your life wishing you had. I'm doing this for you, and everyone who would have to suffer your constant self flagellation if you don't."

House's eyebrows jumped. "There would be flagellation? Tell me more."

She glared at him a minute, and then snatched his beer away. She gathered up the forbidden items and bagged them. Then she stood up and looked at him. "You know, if you can pull it together and get back into the game, you might just get an opportunity to see exaclty what some hot flagellation looks like."

House's mouth dropped.

She put her hands on her hips. "You think you know everything, don't you?" With that, she winked, and turned, disappearing into the hallway.

……………………………………………………………………………………………..

She leaned against the doorway to the master bedroom, looking paler than he had ever seen her. He picked up an armful of blankets and pillows.

"What are you doing?" She whispered with a half smile.

"I'll bunk out on the couch. It's better for the girls."

She rolled her eyes. "Put the stuff back. I've had boyfriends before. They know we're going to share a bedroom. They like you, trust you. Isabella even said that it's good that you're a doctor 'cause then you won't mind seeing me naked so much."

"Are you sure?"

She strolled in. "I don't hide from my girls. I don't tell them everything, but I don't hide my life from them. Besides, you are not in competition with them. They will always be first, and they know that." She reached for his hand. He dropped the blankets and followed her onto the bed. For a moment, he did nothing more than hold her and feel the warmth of her frail body. "Take off your shirt," he whispered into her ear.

"No foreplay? We have already progressed to this in the relationship," she teased as she dragged her shirt up over her head.

He pulled away, grabbed a leather bag off the counter, and pulled out a stethoscope.

"What is this all about?"

"Your breath is labored. I first heard it at the airport. I want to listen to your lungs." He warmed the end of the scope in his hands and then scooted around to her back. "Breathe in deep, then exhale."

She did that for him four times as he explored different parts of her lungs. By the end she was as winded as if she had run five miles.

He sat back. "They're soupy. I brought medications and a nebulizer. We have to work on keeping them as clear as possible. I don't want you to get pneumonia on top of everything else."

She nodded, fear showing in her eyes.

"You can't run around the island with your kids. Marta and Hector can do that for you. You need to rest, no exertion. We can sit and watch the kids swim and the sunsets and have lobster salad brought to us in our deck chairs. You can't push yourself. Do this for the girls. You'll stay healthy longer."

"How long do I have?"

He shook his head. "I don't like to speculate, but I don't think you'll make it to the end of the school year. Marta's going to have to start stepping up." The fear rose in him as well. He was in deep, every bit of wisdom he had gained as an oncologist discarded before her. He thought his own situation would protect him, but he was wrong.

She looked cold, and so he gathered her in his arms and they lay together on the wide bed. She started to say something, but he put a finger to his lips. "Listen to the waves, Conni. Just lay here and listen to the waves with me."

………………………………………………………………………

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

7

A/N: Are you still there? Sorry, I have been missing in action. The end of the semester is upon me and it has been nothing but work, work, and more work. I have had no time to even think about this chapter, but I had a couple of free hours, and threw this together instead of study for my statistics test. I hate statistics. I hope everyone has a wonderful Thanksgiving weekend, and I hope to get back on track with a weekly chapter very soon.

Sheila

Heart Cancer 

Chapter 10

Wilson looked up from his book at the sound of screams. He smiled at the scene below him; three little girls splashing in the surf with Hector. The young, burly man was trying to fend off a water fight launched by all three of them. Beside him, Conni sat in a chaise lounge wearing a sun hat and dark glasses. She turned to him, "Let's go down there."

Wilson shook his head. "You breathed into too much sand yesterday, and you coughed all night. Your lungs can't afford that kind of stress. Today we sit by the pool and enjoy them from afar."

She lay back, and reached for his hand. "This has been one of the best weeks of my life."

He squeezed back. "Sometimes I forget what's really happening."

She looked off over the horizon. "I know."

He sighed. "I think Marta will do a great job with your girls. She's amazing."

Conni chuckled. "Can you believe how calmly we're having this conversation?"

James smiled. "I didn't even think about it."

"We can't stay here forever."

"Yeah, I know. I did some calculations this morning. It turns out that I can only afford this place for another 159 days."

"We have to get back."

"We could get jobs here and stay. I think I would like to park cars for a while. The tips are good if you have the right attitude, and I think I have a real trustworthy face. Maybe you could be a Concierge, and we'll put the kids in school, and Hector can fix cars and Marta can go to nursing school. What do you say? Try it for a year?"

"Yes, I think you would make an excellent valet. But for me, I think I would like to be a lifeguard."

He shook his head, a serious look etched comically into his features. "I would be too jealous for all that. I think you'd better stay with something a little more respectable. We're definitely not sharing those long legs with the rest of the world."

She slapped at him with the style section of the New York Times. "Seriously, James, we have to go home. There are things I need to do. I have been thinking about my mom. I would really like to spend some time with her in San Juan."

"Okay, just a few more days. My tan is finally starting to set."

"Okay, but do you really think your skin is going to do anything other than get that red, blotchy color?"

Wilson surveyed his arms. "You don't think they look good? I think they're sort of sexy in a second degree burn kind of way."

She giggled and shook her head. He smiled back, and climbed out of his chair. Her forehead creased for a moment. He grabbed for his cell phone. "I need to do a few things for a friend. I'll be back."

She nodded and returned her attention to the beach below. Marta had joined them now, and she and Hector were chasing the girls down the beach. Despite the warmth of the midday sun, Conni felt a chill running through her. She closed her eyes and wished for a way to capture the moment and make it last forever.

………………………………………………………………………………..

Chase's eyes widened when he walked into their office. Streamers, balloons, and decorations littered the room. Foreman sat in the midst of it with a wary look on his face.

"Did you do this?" Chase said in disbelief.

"You're joking, right?" Foreman replied. "I found the room like this."

Chase looked around. "Do you think Cameron did this?"

"She says no. She went down to the nurse's station to find out if they knew."

Cameron walked in with a large bouquet of flowers with a Happy Birthday sign in it. She pulled out a card. "Yep. This is definitely for House. Here's a card and there's a little note attached to the back." She blinked. "There is…a note for me."

"Read it," Chase said.

She did so, silently. He grabbed for her arm. "I mean out loud."

She backed away a couple of steps. "You're not going to believe this one."

"Try us," Foreman said with a scowl.

"Okay, it says, Dear Cameron, it's House's birthday. You'll be confused by this because it is House's birthday whenever he doesn't have any cash and he wants a free meal. Ask around. He always tells his mark to not tell anyone else because he's embarrassed about his birthday."

Cameron looked up. Foreman nodded. "I took him out for Thai food three months ago. He said he didn't like to celebrate, but he would because he knew I wouldn't go overboard."

"I took him for French food about six months ago. Expensive damn meal. Said that his birthday always depresses him because Stacy left him around that time." Chase didn't meet their eyes.

Cameron smirked.

"Aw, come on. He got you too, didn't he?" Foreman asked.

"Nope. Never pulled it on me once." She returned to the letter, scanning the words. "He's pretty mad at me right now, but I do take him out on his real birthday every year. I probably went overboard, but I was thinking the three of you and maybe Cuddy could take him out. My treat. I have reservations at the Galaxy Room, and a bottle of his favorite expensive scotch waiting there. Get him drunk. Let him call me a 'bastard' as much as he wants. Just let him have a good time. It's probably best not to tell him I was involved in this at all. Wilson. P.S. I am doing well. Will be back sometime soon. But I am very happy right now. I recommend it. Happiness, I mean."

"Wow!" Chase shook his head. "I never would have believed that Wilson would be someone who colored outside the lines. I really thought I had that guy pegged."

"Well, I for one, am not amused. We have been working double time trying to figure how to pull that tumor, and he takes off, probably screwing up our timeline for good."

Cameron turned to him. "We still have time. We don't know what that tumor is doing. He could be back in a couple of days, and we almost have the procedure nailed."

"Man! It's going to take you guys some time to clean this up. Better get started." House cocked his head at them and smiled as he surveyed the balloons and streamers.

Cameron stepped forward. "Ah, Happy Birthday, House. We, uh, thought we'd put together a little party for you."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You mean, Wilson thought he would throw me a little party."

"No, ah—"

"Save it, Cameron. He's overcompensating. Not even you would decorate the office. Besides, he's the only one besides Human Resources that knows my actual birthday."

She bit her lip and then held up the note. "He's says he's doing well."

"I know. He's been calling." House leaned his cane next to his desk and dropped into his chair.

"So you've been talking to him." Foreman got up.

"No," House swung one leg up and then carefully pulled the other one up on his desk. "I said he's been calling."

"You won't even talk to him." Chase said.

House shrugged. "He says he's happy. He's got a tumor crowding his brain, and he says he's happy, running off with some terminal woman and her kids. It's ridiculous. They're probably planning a deathbed wedding or some other crap."

Cameron looked away.

Eric Foreman looked at him. "This isn't about you. I'm pissed he's run off too. But this is about him and what he wants. When is it ever about what Wilson wants in your world? He's always cleaning up after you. Now he needs your understanding and you're acting that this is all about you. Wilson's the one with the tumor, not you."

The room grew silent. Eric shook his head and walked out. Cameron stood there with her mouth open. House stared after him, and then turned to the rest of his team. "Have all of this out of here by the time I get back." Then he got up, grabbed his cane, coat, and disappeared out the door.

……………………………………………………………………………………..

The headache crept up on him, coming slow and planting itself deep. For the first few hours, he was able to hide the pain. He let the girls drag him down to the beach, and he cooperated as they planted him near the surf, using a combination of dry and wet sand to build a sand castle. They put him in charge of the actual construction while they ran off, and returned with buckets of sand. After a couple of trips, Maggie sat down next to him, and started to help him build. She grinned up at him, wet, tangled curls plastered to her chubby cheeks, and for a while, he could forget the pain pounding at his temples.

The girls were surprisingly focused, and he and Maggie were shaping castles for most of the morning. At one point, he shaded his eyes and looked up to their villa. Conni waved down at him from her lounge by the pool.

The pain beater heavier, and he found that he couldn't countenance the bright sun. Maggie started to get whine about being thirsty, and he figured this was a good moment to get the girls back up the stairs. At the stairs, he had to lean on the railing to climb. He felt a sense of relief when they were safely on the deck. He sent them off in search of Marta and Conni who were making lunch, and he closed his eyes, resting for a moment against the wall. A shadow settled on him, and he looked up to find Hector standing before him. He wasn't sure what he said, but the big young man put his arm around his neck and helped him inside. Wilson pointed at his bedroom, and Hector brought him in, and gently helped him onto the bed. Wilson asked for his bag, and some water. He dug out an orange bottle, and shook two pills into a shaky palm. Then he closed his eyes, and let the pain take over his consciousness.

………………………………………………………………………………

House came back later and found the card still on his desk. He ignored it for the rest of the day. No one said anything more to him; even Cameron knew to give him his space. She did tell him about the Galaxy Room, and House told them to go and enjoy it themselves. Cameron started to protest, but Chase pulled her away, and together with Foreman, they left early. House sat at his desk, pushing the card back and forth for some time. Finally he picked it up, turned it over, and slid his forefinger under the flap.

He smiled. It was written in Wilson's distinctive chicken scrawl, but House had plenty of experience with his friend's cramped writing. It was only a few sentences, but House took time to read it a few times.

He sat back for a long time before he picked up his cell. He hit Wilson's number and waited. This time, no one picked up. He waited for the beep. "Do you think I'm a 14 year old girl? Balloons and flowers are a bit of an overkill, don't you think?...I'm not mad…well, I am, but at least I know I shouldn't be. Maybe you want to give me a call, and I can get some sense as to when you are coming back. I think we have a plan that you're going to like…And, yeah, we're going to have to talk about happiness one of these days. I would like to know what you think you've discovered about it. I'm a pain. I know that. And you've put up with a lot. I do appreciate it. I know it doesn't feel like it, but I do. Call me."

He rested his head against the back of the chair, and placed the phone on the desk in front of him. Then he waited.

………………………………………………………………………………….

Wilson couldn't sleep for more than a few minutes at a time. He was taking double the recommended pain medication, but nothing seemed to touch it. Conni came in, worried, but he reassured her that everything was okay. He asked her to pull the shades.

At the point that he added another pill, he knew he was in trouble. His stomach rebelled, and he never made it out of the bed. Some time later, he was aware of Conni and Marta rolling him over and changing the sheets. Conni said things to him, but he couldn't seem to understand her words. He tried to tell her he would be fine, but her worried face hovered and she kept talking into his face. Finally, she drifted away, and he remembered thinking that he could finally get some sleep. A darkness descended, and he welcomed it.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

House jerked forward when the phone rang. He pulled it to his ear and listened. His face scowled at the unfamiliar voice. Then he sat up, and started firing questions at the woman. He grabbed a piece of paper and began to scribble. He told her exactly what to do, and hung up. He stuffed the note into his pocket, grabbed his cane, and hobbled out of his office at a trot, ignoring the screams of protest rising from his damaged thigh.

……………………………………………………………………………………

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

9

A/N: Thanks for all the feedback last chapter. It felt really good. I am going to keep the chapters shorter like this because it is the only way I can manage it with school. I was inspired by the opening scene of Hunting for the final scene of this chapter. Don't get worked up though. I don't see Wilson and House as gay. Not that I would mind, I just don't see it. I hope everyone had a great turkey day. Mine was wonderful. It is really my favorite holiday of the year. See you next week, and thanks a million for all your support.

Sheila

Heart Cancer 

**Chapter 11**

Wilson didn't want to cry. He blinked his eyes hard when they began to focus, and he couldn't stop the moisture from leaking out of his eyes. It had started when his blurry vision focused on the long, thin mug of his friend House, and a profound sense of relief flooded through his body. Unsuccessful in his efforts to staunch the flow, he turned his head to the opposite wall, staying as nonchalant as possible.

House busied himself with a blood pressure cuff, fumbling uncharacteristically with it.

Wilson let out a breath, his face turned away. "Ah, when do you get here?"

"About three hours ago," House mumbled, studiously keeping his eyes averted down.

"That means I've been out for quite a while then." Wilson dug at the corners of his eyes with his free hand.

"Yeah, well I had a local doc sedate you until I could get here. No reason you should have to struggle with the pain." House finished checking blood pressure and carefully rolled the sleeve into a ball and put it in a bag.

Wilson cleared his throat and braved a look at his friend. "How did you convince him not to load me in an ambulance?"

House stared at him, and Wilson was struck by the intensity of blue in his eyes. It suddenly seemed like they were the exact shade of the tropical bay they were situated on in the full bloom of an afternoon. "I..just told him to do what I said, and he was too stupid to question me."

Wilson stared up at the ceiling for a moment, contemplating the real possible reasons House didn't put him in a hospital. He was sure it was a question House would not easily answer for him. Instead he sighed and said, "Flying is hard on your leg. I bet you're pretty stiff."

"It gives me an excuse for a Vicodin orgy. I'll be a happy man in about an hour."

"Yeah, I bet you will." Wilson chewed his upper lip for a moment. "House, I want to apologize…for being an idiot. I was using no common sense."

House nodded. "Okay, but you left me messages saying you felt good, really good. You said you were happy. Were you lying about that?"

"No," he said softly.

House looked out the window. "Well, then you really don't have to apologize for, do you? You took a risk and it paid off. Any anger I'm feeling is pure jealousy; nothing more."

"I got scared and I ran; nothing to admire there."

House squinted. "I'm getting the feeling that you're not going to be satisfied until I tell you what a blockhead you are. So, in the interest of all things therapeutic, why don't I just say you're a royal idiot on a scale that I have not before encountered among people who should know better. Does that help?"

"Well, that's starting to feel more familiar." Wilson's drawn face curled up in a smile.

House tried to hide the grin tugging at his mouth.

"House, what's the plan?"

"We're going to get you on the next plane back to New Jersey."

"Okay, sounds good. You're aware that they have hospitals here in Hawaii, right?"

House snorted, "So, you want to stay, huh?"

"No," Wilson said carefully. "I just want to have an honest conversation with you about why I didn't wake up in a hospital bed."

"I told you—"

"House, you're afraid that if I get admitted to a hospital here, I'll never leave, ever. You want to spirit me back to New Jersey as fast as you can before it's too late, before it's clear that I can't leave."

He worked his jaw for a moment before answering. "They don't have facilities…here like we do at Plainsboro. Well, I guess I don't know that, but I want access to what I know."

Wilson caught his eyes. "You really think there is something more to do? Do you somehow imagine that my tumor is not growing? I can actually feel it, I can feel the pressure of it, Greg. It's growing."

House stared at him silently. Finally he spoke, "I'm not giving up. I won't."

"Do you have a reasonable belief in this procedure you've been working up?" Wilson studied his face warily for a response.

"If the tumor isn't too big, I think we have a real chance of success. I really believe that, James."

Wilson nodded. "Okay then, we're going to have to figure out a way to get me back to New Jersey. I place myself in your hands."

"You trust me?"

"I always did, House. The person I didn't trust was me."

House considered that response for a moment, then he looked at his watch. "I gotta keep an eye out for the three stooges. They took a later flight. They should be here shortly."

Wilson's eyes widened. "You brought your team? What did Cuddy say? She must be beside herself."

"Until you get better, every wish is her command. Anything! I'm trying to convince her that your procedure requires a hot tub be built onto my back deck. I'm thinking you can help me with the language."

Wilson rolled his eyes.

House grinned. "They should be in some shape. I bet you didn't know that Chase is afraid of flying. Idiot decides to work half the way around the world from his home, and the trip just about kills him. He took the ticket and bumped it to first class. Says it's safer there. I imagine that Cameron and Foreman were trying to annihilate him with their eyes from their cramped seats back in couch."

Wilson grinned.

Seeing his friend smiling as if the world was right was too much. A rush of pain filled his gut, and he started. Leaning against the bed, he pulled himself to an upright position. "I gotta make a few arrangements, and you need to get some more sleep."

Wilson caught his wrist. "Thanks for coming. Thanks for not giving up. Thanks for being my friend."

House pulled away gently unable to sustain the contact. "The tumor's got you sounding like a Hallmark card. We need to get in there and get those cynicism synapses reconnected or you're going to be downright intolerable."

House couldn't pull off the sarcasm well, and so he beat a hasty retreat. Wilson let his head sink into his pillow, and contemplated the odd feeling growing inside that comes from suddenly realizing one's impact on the lives around him.

………………………………………………………………………………………..

Conni was waiting when House emerged. She stood up, hands clasped tightly.

"He was awake for a little while, and he sounds good."

She let out an audible sigh of relief.

"When my people get here, We're going to make some arrangements to get him on a plane back to New Jersey as soon as we can."

"We're coming too." She looked around as if preparing to pack.

House took a deep breath. "I think that's a good idea. There's a flight in ten hours that we're going to try to make. It's almost full. I think you and your family is going to have to follow us on the next flight."

She nodded, and he was glad that she didn't know enough to probe more deeply. She leaned against the back of a sofa, and he heard the slight catch in her breathing.

"What does Wilson have you taking?"

She looked startled. "Pardon me?"

"What drugs? Treatment?"

"Oh, ah… a nebulizer and some meds, I don't know the names, but I feel okay right now."

He dug around for his stethoscope and then limped over to her. "Turn around and pull your shirt up."

"Ah..well, I don't think—"

"Can it. My pick-up lines are never this subtle. I want to hear your lungs."

She nodded, and turned, pulling her tank up her back. House placed the scope on her back, telling her to breathe in deeply and exhale. He did this four times, and by the fourth she was struggling for air. He stepped away, gesturing at her to pull her shirt down.

"You're losing integrity in your lungs. They are starting to fill. You feel fine now, but six hours from now some dust blows your way and you're going to start wheezing like great grandma did down on the hacienda."

She folded her arms tightly around her middle, and struggled to keep her composure.

Just then, the front door burst open, a set of three tired, cross doctors stumbled into the villa. Foreman threw House a heavy glare before heading off in search of a bathroom. Chase looked as pale as a ghost, and Cameron was carrying bags for all three of them. She leaned against a wall, and let them slide off her shoulders.

House gestured with his head. "Don't get comfortable, Cameron. I need you on the phone arranging to get us on the midnight flight out of here. Chase, pull yourself together. This woman needs a pulmonologist. You can curl up into fetal position later on."

Chase narrowed his eyes at House, and didn't dignify him with a response. He reached over and shook Conni's hand. "I have some sketchy details about your condition. Can I assume there is a nebulizer nearby? And your medications?"

She nodded. He extended an arm. "Then lead the way."

He passed House without so much as an acknowledgement. Cameron walked up to him, her hair sticking up at the back of her head, the creases of a dry cabin, no sleep, and dehydration growing around her eyes. "How is he?"

"You tell me. He looks like he spent the day in front of a firing squad. We're going to have to pretend we don't know him on the flight back because I can tell he's going to embarrass us."

She sighed. "I mean Wilson. How's Wilson?"

House avoided her eyes. "We got to get him on a plane."

"We're not going to check him in somewhere first?"

"Arrange an MRI and a CAT scan at a local clinic. We should have some films to look at on the flight."

"House, this is irresponsible."

His eyes flashed at hers. "Do you want a chance to treat him? 'Cause that means we get him back to Plainsboro ASAP."

"We don't know if he's stable."

"This is how it's going to work. We're going to dress him up good, put him on a plane, and hold our breath for the next 14 hours. We're calling a bluff, Cameron, and if I'm right, we'll have him prepped for surgery in less than 48 hours."

"He's going to do it?"

"Yes, so you need to pull this together with the airlines now. Don't give away too much or they are going to want an insurance exam before he boards."

She licked her lips. "If we're wrong, and this goes bad at 10,000 feet, it's going…" 

House looked away. "If we don't do this, then Wilson sits at Honolulu General or wherever the hell, and waits two weeks while they make him sicker with treatments, at which point, it will be determined that he cannot leave as his cancer is too advanced and he's too weak, and I'll be fighting with the board for privileges at the hospital that they will not grant once they look at my malpractice insurance, and so we'll all be sitting at some rundown motel overlooking Waikiki waiting until the day he dies because I'm not leaving here without him. Do you follow?"

She nodded. "I got it."

He watched her as she walked away, and secured a phone in one of the bedrooms. He let out a deep breath, and sagged against the wall. Foreman emerged from the bathroom, and House merely pointed to Wilson's room. "Do a neurological. I want him on a plane in ten hours." Foreman blinked, but out of all of them, he understood immediately what House was doing. Without a word, he disappeared into the bedroom.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

The drive to the airport was grim. Cameron had elbowed her way into a local hospital, and House bullied them for the tests they needed. Foreman oversaw the neurological exam, and was still waiting in radiology to get copies of the films. Wilson leaned heavily on House, and neither one of them talked about the growing mass that was taking over the MRI films they got a chance to see. Chase was up front, staring out the window of the cab, and House felt a tiny stab of guilt as he considered the young man's fear of climbing back into the plane.

Cameron rushed them through security, still carrying most of the luggage while House and Wilson used each other as leverage as they slowly negotiated the long hallways of the airport. Chase eventually snatched a security cart, and pushed the two of them into it.

At the gate, they huddled around Wilson while waiting for Foreman. Chase paced nervously, and, in his annoyance, it was all House could do not to poke at him about his fears. Cameron secured three first class and two coach seats. Automatically, she pressed two of the first class tickets into House's hands and the final first class ticket into Chase's. Chase looked at her, and murmured an inaudible thank you.

Foreman showed up in at a trot, two long envelopes of films tucked under his arm. House took him by the arm, and pulled him over to where Chase and Cameron were standing. "All right, Foreman. It's your turn. Can Cunningham still operate?"

Foreman shrugged. "It'll be his call. We'll know when we get there."

House tightened his grip on his arm. "No, you're going to study these films for the next 14 hours, and be able to draw him a picture on how this can be done. It's the only way. He gets a glance at these before that, and he won't even consider it."

Foreman let out a heavy sigh. "I'll do what I can, but I'm not spinning a fairy tale. If I see it, he'll know about it, and that's it. Reading films on a crowded plane is going to prove something of a challenge."

Chase rolled his eyes and walked away. House nodded and let go of Foreman. "We don't have another way to do it."

Chase turned around abruptly and thrust his first class ticket into Foreman's hand. "You'll concentrate better, and you'll have more room to spread out the film."

Foreman blinked in surprise, and stared at the ticket in his hand. He started to protest, but Chase shook his head sharply, grabbed Cameron, and steered her toward the plane. "Allison, you are going to have to hold my hand and tell me lies about what you think of me for the next 3,000 miles. I don't care if it kills you. I need a distraction."

House stared after them, a soft look finding its way onto his craggy features. Foreman shook his head, and headed off after them. House limped over and helped Wilson to his feet.

Wilson raised his brows. "You were telling secrets about me. You know I hate that."

House chuckled as he linked arms with him. "The kids are playing nice with one another. I almost choked to death on the shock of it all. I'll tell you about it on the plane."

They limped toward the flight attendant, shoulder to shoulder. "People are going to get the wrong idea about us."

House grinned. "Yeah, well I'm telling them that you're my very hungover boyfriend. And when you fall asleep on my shoulder, I'm going to tell them that you drank too much because you were jealous of the Hawaiian guy who was hitting on me at the luau last night. Then, just to stay close to reality, I'm going to tell the sympathetic flight attendant your long history of cheating. By the end of the flight, she's not going to feel anything other than disgust for you, and she won't notice anything unusual about your condition."

Wilson shook his head. "When I said, I was putting myself in your hands, I had no idea what you were really thinking."

House threw back his head and chuckled. Wilson swayed a little as House's grip loosened, but House caught him and pulled him in tight against him. "Face it, Wilson. For the next few hours, you're going to be my boo. But don't get too used to it. The minute I get back, I'm going to troll the bars for someone drunk and willing so I can reclaim my manhood."

"Yeah, me too," Wilson murmured as they stumbled their way onto the jetway.

……………………………………………………………………………………….

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

12

A/N: Sorry for the wait. The next few weeks are going to be crazy, and I will not be moving very fast on this. However, three weeks of Christmas vacation gives me wild opportunity for writing. We are getting to the last four chapters. I hope you are enjoying. I still love this story despite its melodrama and somewhat unsound medical practice. Thanks for responding to it. This is always what inspires me to keep writing.

Sheila

**Heart Cancer**

**Chapter 12**

His hand felt warm, and he wondered how long House was going to hold his hand. It seemed a little inappropriate, but James was willing to let it go. The rules had changed. Nothing was it was. He was no longer the person he had once been. He'd betrayed every stereotype he had ever embodied. If House wanted to hold his hand, well that was just fine. It was the least of his worries.

Wilson let his head roll over and opened his eyes. House was suddenly quite beautiful. His blue eyes had long lashes and the most precisely applied black eyeliner. His long, dark hair was something quite new. He was especially surprised by House's pearl necklace. He reached over to touch it, and a well-manicured hand shot out and grabbed it.

"Hey James, do you know where you are?"

House's voice was suspiciously odd, and James focused better to find that his House looked a great deal like Lisa Cuddy.

"Did you come to Hawaii?"

She smiled wide. "No, James, you're back home."

He looked around, eyes blurry. "I don't remember this. How did I get here?"

"House brought you in last night."

Wilson furled his brow. "I don't remember anything after getting on the plane."

She licked her lips. "Well, you slept most of the way. Apparently you didn't even stir during a refueling stop in Los Angeles. But you did wake up over the Appalachians, and you had a seizure."

He closed his eyes and was silent. Her grip on his hand tightened.

"House being House was prepared. He had a syringe taped to his thigh. He was able to sedate you for the rest of the flight."

Wilson nodded, eyes still closed. "Did anyone see him?"

Cuddy snorted. "Yes, people noticed that he produced an illegal syringe in the middle of the flight. The flight attendant called it in as a possible terrorist attack. He was arrested once the plane landed in Newark."

Wilson groaned. "You gotta do something, Lisa."

She smiled. "Already covered. Stacy and House are down at the U.S. Attorney's office right now. He's pleading guilty, and has to pay a $10,000 fine and perform 1000 community hours. I've offered to let him do it at the clinic."

"Is he alright?" He couldn't calm the feeling of dread in his gut.

She put her other hand on his shoulder. "He's fine. I think he loved it a little. You know, House the criminal; adds a little bit of danger to his crabby mystique. You know him."

He looked around the stark whiteness of a hospital room. Despite blankets, it felt cold and confining. He wondered if these four walls would be the last scenery he would ever see. The sounds began to drift in as he noted the intercom from the hallway, and people's voices. It hit him how amazing it had been to be in a place where the sounds were primarily of waves breaking and the laughter of children. That had felt so alive to him. This felt final.

"James" Cuddy broke his reverie. He blinked at her. "Your friend, Consuela, came back this morning. She's in with her oncologist. She wanted me to page her when you were awake."

He suppressed a shudder. He didn't want to see anyone, and he certainly didn't want to say good-bye to the fantasy of Conni Sandoval. He didn't say anything for a couple of moments. Then he turned to her, "The tumor's too big, isn't it?"

She hesitated, as if searching for certain words. "The surgeon thinks so, but Foreman disagrees. They're talking about it right now. Chase and Cameron are in there too. I would be surprised if that surgeon gets out of this hospital in one piece if he doesn't agree to do it."

He smiled at her discomfort. "Life takes funny turns, Lisa. Who would have thought I would lying here like this, having this conversation with you."

She bit her bottom lip.

He nodded slightly and sighed. "I think this is where I find something brave and comforting to say to you; something that shows you that I'm ready for this, but I'm not. I'm sorry. I wish I could do better."

She shook her head sharply, brushing her fingertips under her eyes. "Hey, this is not finished. We have plenty of time. Do me a favor. Tell me something I can get for you. I am at your service. Hell, if you miss Hawaii, I'll have a juice bar and palm trees in this room within the hour. You just name it."

He reached for her hand again. "Alright, I'm going to take advantage. Find me some freshly squeezed orange juice with a dash of fresh grapefruit. Then find me the most recent films they have on me. I want to see for myself."

"You sure that's all?"

"That would be perfect right now." He smiled at her with as much warmth as he could muster. "Tell Conni to go home and rest. I think tomorrow is a going to be a better day for me."

The pain in his head was starting to build, but he was reluctant to take medication right now. He had spent enough of the last four days in a fog. He kept his smile steady for Cuddy until after she left. Then he felt his pain settle itself in his temples. He closed his eyes to it. An odd feeling tugged at him, and he struggled to identify it.

…………………………………………………………………………………………….

"Dammit! I was only gone a few hours!" The cane swung up and for a second, Cameron wondered if it would land on one of their heads. "I can't believe you let the surgeon go!"

Foreman rolled his eyes, and folded his arms against his chest. He didn't even attempt a response. Chase, on the other hand, was trying desperately to get a word in.

"The films show us nothing good. He didn't have a—"

"Enough!" Chase jumped a bit at his harsh tone. "I don't want to hear it." House advanced on the offending films. He looked them over perfunctorily before turning toward them again. "You have to look for what's not there. Find the exception. If it's so big, why is he still functioning? Why isn't he in a coma?"

"He could be any day now," Foreman said quietly.

House flashed ice blue eyes at him. "Well, he's not, and that's a piece of information we have failed to explore."

Cameron walked toward him slowly. "None of us have had more than a few hours of sleep in the last three days. You haven't probably slept at all."

He turned toward her. "Always trying to get me into bed, aren't you? Get a life already."

She steeled herself against his assault, and glared at him. "Knock it off, House."

"I'll make a deal. You start acting like you give a damn about this case and I'll—" He never finished his sentence. Her hand shot out like a bullet, and slapped him smartly across the face. The sound, like a crack, filled the room, and it seemed to have an echo in the moments that passed in silence. They looked around at each other in shock, and Foreman rose from the table and walked toward House as if ready to restrain him if he advanced on Cameron. Chase came up behind Cameron and put a hand on her shoulder. She brushed it off and looked at House again. In a voice shaky with emotion, she said, "Don't ever accuse me of not caring. Say anything else you want. Make fun of my feelings for you. Humiliate me about my weaknesses, but don't ever say that I don't care. Do you understand?"

House stared at her, his mouth hanging open. It wasn't clear if he was hearing her or not.

She nodded once, and grabbed her coat. "I would apologize. I should really, but you have deserved that for such a very long time that I really can't bring myself to right now. I'm going home, and I am going to sleep for 7 hours. Then I will be back, and I will be able to see those films with fresh eyes." She waited for a moment as if expecting a reply, and then shook her head. She turned to her colleagues. "I suggest you all do the same thing. We're really in no position to make a decision about anything." Then she brushed past Chase and disappeared out the door.

The three men looked at each other, and without a word, each grabbed his coat and made his home.

……………………………………………………………………………………….

Her eyes grew red and soft as she spoke, and Wilson squeezed her hand again. "And I slapped him really hard. I did. I knew he was tired. We were all tired, but I hit him as hard as I could. I can't believe I did that. It was really stupid…"

She had snuck into his room in the early morning hours, and when he woke, he found her snoring softly, sleeping in a chair, her head resting on his mattress. He woke her gently, and she started in with her story almost immediately. He got the feeling that she was using him as a confessor, and he wondered if he should joke about being her Jewish/Catholic priest.

"…and so I went home and slept a few hours, and then I couldn't anymore because when I closed my eyes, all I could see was the look on his face when I did that to him. I came here, and I thought maybe…it's stupid, I know. You of all people do not have time for my problems. But I'm here anyway."

"Okay, Cameron, that's enough." He patted her hand, and forced her to meet his gaze. "You didn't suffocate a baby, okay. You merely slapped House. Please. Lots of people do it. I am sure he had it coming, and it usually shuts him up. He'll be fine."

She grimaced as she struggled to hold back tears. "I shouldn't have done it."

"Nonsense, Allison. Really. He deserved it."

"You can't know that."

"I've known Greg House for nine years. I am absolutely sure that he pushed you too far. He's scared, and when that happens, he bullies people and he doesn't stop until someone stands up to him. I've seen it before."

She rubbed her forehead. "Why? Why does he matter so much? Can you explain it? I mean, being his best friend ought to qualify you for a Nobel Peace Prize."

"I have been asked that question so many times," Wilson said, shaking his head. "There is no real secret. We're just a couple of overly bright nerds who enjoy the same things, and aren't that good at relating to the women in our lives. Hanging out with House is where I get to totally relax. I suspect he feels the same."

"You can forgive him his excess, his mistakes?" She studied him closely.

Wilson shrugged. "Sometimes, I can. I know him well enough to know that his need for answers is a compulsion. It's what makes him good at what he does. He can't let up, and that means, sometimes, he goes too far. The more I stand up to him, the better he understands the line between what is acceptable and what is not."

"He doesn't trust my motives for wanting to be with him. Do you?"

Wilson grinned. "Sure, I tried being with House once, but he's all hands, you know, and it made me feel like an object. Plus, he never wanted to talk about my feelings."

Cameron giggled. "No, I mean, do you trust my motives for being with House?"

His smile faded and he sighed. "Allison, I trust that you care about him. I don't trust that you can survive him. Stacy is one of the strongest women I know, and she came out of it a mess. You are very strong as well, but I am not sure you see him yet for who he really is. You need to understand his unhappiness better."

She blinked. "Well, that gives me food for thought. I…uh, should probably go. Everyone should be here by now, and we need another chance to look at those films."

She got up, and he caught her hand. "Allison, I want to thank you for coming to talk about something not related to my disease. It was nice not being "man with massive tumor" for a few minutes. I appreciated the distraction."

She smiled at him, and leaned over, kissing him softly on the cheek. "Thanks for being there."

She was almost out the door when he called out to her again. She leaned back in.

"Could you tell House to stop by? I have a thought…I don't know, maybe…just ask him to stop, okay?" Wilson let his head drop back into his pillow.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Wilson woke up to find House sitting in the corner of his room staring at him. Wilson ran a hand over his face and focused. "Are you worried that I'm contagious or something?"

"Last time I sat close to you, I was arrested on federal charges of terrorism," House mumbled before getting up and approaching.

"Yeah, how was that?"

"Do you wanna see where the handcuffs cut into my wrists?" House leaned his cane against the bed and rolled up his sleeves. Wilson looked at the undeniable bruises.

"You must have resisted arrest."

"Naw, those people just have no sense of humor about this terrorist stuff. They jerked me around like a puppy with a chew toy." House dropped into the chair next to Wilson's bed.

Wilson's eyebrows rose. "That's intense. Are you okay?"

"Yup, and they might put me on a watch list. Cool, huh? If they do, we have to get some of the posters and put them up in the hospital. It would be cool to be a mug on watch list one minute and someone's doctor the next. It might get me out of clinic duty. What do you think?"

"I think I'm happy to be back at Princeton-Plainsboro, and that wouldn't have happened if my best friend wasn't the crazy Dr. House. Thank you."

"Twas nothing, Jimmy. Any time."

Wilson spotted an angry red mark high on his left cheek. "Jeez, she really got you, didn't she?"

House touched it self-consciously. "I'm telling people the FBI beat me up while I was waiting for Cuddy's lawyers."

"It can be our little secret."

House winced a little when he pressed it. "I really sort of deserved it, you know. I hope you told her not to beat herself up about it."

"It's going to sound better coming from you."

House blew out a rush of air. "Well, we both know that's not going to happen."

Wilson struggled to balance himself on his elbows. "Listen to me. I have one thing to say, and then I will not talk of this again. House, if I don't end up being around—"

"I'm not worried, Wilson. We have plenty of road left here."

Wilson put up a hand. "Listen. I'm serious. Let me talk. Don't interrupt."

Something about the exasperation on Wilson's face shut House down, and he hung his head, glancing at his friend like a petulant child.

"If I don't end up being around much longer, you really have to think about reaching out, letting people in. You can't close yourself off. It's not good. You need friends, and you have people around you who care. I'm talking about Cameron and Cuddy, even Chase and Foreman. It's gotta to be a lot of work acting like an ass so much of the time. So why don't you relax and let people get to know you a little. Start with the pretty brunette with the sharp right hook. I doubt she's going anywhere anytime soon. You think she's hung up on saving you. Well, I think you're hung up on not being saved. So which one of you is really the one with the ulterior motives."

House took a deep breath. "Are you finished?"

"I guess so."

"I particularly enjoyed the part best you said this was the only time you were ever going to bring this up."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I really appreciate your willingness to see another perspective."

"Anytime," House got up and retrieved his cane. He started toward the door.

"Hey!" Wilson struggled to sit up. "I had a patient once with a brain tumor, and it was inoperable because of where it sat, and he went home to enjoy what was left of his life, and he went horseback riding and was thrown."

House looked at him warily. "You're telling me a story about someunlucky joe. Okay.?"

"Because of a possible concussion, we did another set of films. Amazing thing happened. His tumor had shifted. It had broken free of where it was anchored. A neurosurgeon was cutting him within a few hours, and I still get a card at Christmas from him."

House frowned at him.

Wilson put his hand on his temple. "Before we left Hawaii, my pain was here." He brushed his fingers back a couple of inches. "Now it sits here. When I seized on the plane, how hard did I rock?"

House stared at him, his blue eyes bright. "You were jumping around like a chicken off the butcher's block."

"Nice visual, thanks. When I have time, I will be sure to think about that with some mortification." Wilson grimaced.

House reached over and grabbed the receiver off the room phone. He barked into it, and soon an all page went up for his team members and Cuddy. "We're doing all the tests over. If this tumor has changed, we're going to know about it in the next three hours."

"Don't get too worked up. It's probably nothing," Wilson said as House disappeared out into the hallway, and started rounding up nurses to prep him for an MRI. He didn't acknowledge Wilson, but it didn't matter, House could no longer hear him.

…………………………………………………………………………………….

He was in a foul mood as the nurse wheeled him back toward his room. Tests sucked. He was going to make sure there was a memo to that effect circulated if he ever got out of this mess. He felt like a laboratory rat constantly being pushed through doors in a maze.

She pushed him into his room, and he was immediately swarmed by female Sandovals. Maggie made straight for his lap, and the rest of them, Conni, Marta, Isabella, and Melinda, descended on him, hugging whatever they could get hold of. The nurse tried to fend them off as one would some pesky pigeons, but they were immune to her words. James waved her off, and let his pigeons help him into bed. It was overwhelming but also exhilarating to have all of this uninhibited good will directed at him.

Finally they had him situated, and, as expected, Maggie had found a way onto the bed and sitting next to him, patting him on the shoulder like he was the family dog. The rest of them settled themselves about the room, Conni sitting in the chair next to him. He smiled at her, noticing the lines of weariness etched into her beautiful face. She was paler than he had ever seen her, and he wondered what she learned from her oncologist. A sinking feeling centered in him that their little adventure might cost her time.

She noticed the concern of his face, and smiled at him, shaking her head as if she could actually read his mind.

"You look good," Marta chirped from across the room. He smiled at her, but everyone stayed silent as if realizing that her statement was forced.

As if in retaliation, Maggie shot, "Well, he's sick and needs some pills and orange juice and toast without the crust." She patted him harder as if outraged that these medical necessities had not yet been provided.

Conni folded her hand into his, and leaned into him. "Thank you for the most beautiful adventure. We will remember it always."

"It was my pleasure," he murmured back at her, stung by the formality of her statement.

Marta jumped up. "Girls, let's give Mom a chance to talk to James without all of us around." Maggie pouted and clung to the bed. Wilson hugged her as best he could in his exhaustion, and allowed Marta to pluck her from his arms. Melinda kissed him on the cheek and thanked him for playing in the sand with her. Isabella stood there, silently, the eldest of the three. 7 years old, and it was already clear that she was not going to be the beauty her mother was. Long faced and thin, she had always been the most serious and quiet of the three, often buried in a book two or three years beyond her age. She looked at him with a sadness that tugged at his heart. In her eyes, he could see comprehension of all that was happening. It had never occurred to him that this small child would understand the events unfolding around her. She rested her head on his chest, and he could feel the hot tears falling onto his thin gown. He rubbed her back and told her that everything would be fine. Finally Conni had to peel her off of him, and send her outside with her sisters.

"She's so smart, Conni," he said as she settled back into the chair beside her bed. "How can she handle all of this?"

"Part of being smart is learning strength. She learns by example and I have been writing a journal for her. Marta will show her in a few years."

He reached over and clasped her hand. "I'm sorry. This is all my fault."

She frowned slightly. "Not one bit of it, James. It was a wonderful thing for all of us. Taking a risk was a good thing. I will see their laughter and smiles for the rest of the time I have left."

"My getting sick must have scared the girls."

She smiled, "Maggie kept ordering you orange juice and animal crackers. She had the staff wrapped around her fingers, and unbeknownst to me, kept them busy with a number of demands. I think she imagined that I was going to feed you animal crackers, and you would be up and out at the beach again in minutes."

"Sounds like the makings of a doctor."

She looked around the room. "Actually I think Isabella will be the doctor, Melinda will be a teacher, she has the patience of Job, and my little Maggie will be a princess, I think. She has such a regal air."

"What did your oncologist say?"

She shrugged, "Nothing encouraging."

"You should think about going to your mother's. It may be the right place to be with your girls right now."

"We will. I just want to stay with you a little. I want to make sure you're okay."

He chuckled. "Okay, you've seen. I'm not okay. Neither are you. We can't do much for each other. Don't wait for me. Go. Take care of yourself and the girls. I have House and my friends."

"He will be kind to you?" Tears appeared on her cheeks.

"Amazingly, yes. He can be quite wonderful under the right circumstances. You just have to learn how to find it."

"Well, we'll go, of course, but we'll wait a little. I would fee better knowing what's going to happen next for you."

Wilson felt a stab of impatience in his gut. "There is nothing to wait for, Conni. I'm not going anywhere. Nothing remarkable is going to happen. I doubt I will ever walk out of this hospital again."

She drew in breath sharply and looked away.

"The reality is ugly, Conni. So we shouldn't wrap ourselves in this fantasy any longer. It will crush us both. Neither one of us is in much of a position to help the other. The best we can do is right now is take care of ourselves."

She rubbed at the moisture the stained her face and looked at him. Before she could say anything, House burst in. He took a look at the current circumstances, raising his eyebrows some, but abandoned the possibilities for sarcasm, and blurted out his news, "

Get ready. We're operating in two hours."

………………………………………………………………………………………..

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: I took a break from finals to whip this up. I was on the edge of my seat, really not knowing where I was going until I got there. I still have one Statistics take home final and then I am free from school for 29 days. Just working full time is going to feel like a vacation. Thanks for your words of encouragement. They mean a great deal to me.

Sheila

**Heart Cancer**

**Chapter 13**

The man frowned over the films for a few minutes, moving them to view at different angles. Chase caught himself holding his breath. Cameron moved toward, but Foreman put a hand on her arm and shook his head slightly. She folded her arms in frustration and leaned against the counter.

The man looked up and made a face, "I don't know."

Foreman took in a deep breath, attempting to keep his composure. "We've been over this, Ben. It's pretty clear cut. A risk? Yes, but that's why we came to the best."

The surgeon looked around the room, his eyes not meeting anyone's. "I just don't know. One minute I see it and then I don't."

Chase's head dropped back, and he stared at the ceiling, his mouth open. Cameron imagined him willing himself to stay calm.

"Cuddy said you'd have no liability. We'll cover you completely."

Cameron heard a distinctive shuffle, and saw House slip into the room, dropping into the nearest chair. Exhaustion was deeply etched into his features.

"I am cleared of all liability up front plus everyone signs a confidentiality agreement if this bombs." The surgeon eyed Foreman warily.

"Agreed."

The man slapped the films on the table. "I'll do it."

Everyone seemed to relax where they stood with the exception of House. He turned his head slowly to the surgeon, his eyes burning, and said, "No."

He cocked his head, "Excuse me. What are you saying no to? I just agreed to do the surgery."

House worried his lower lip while he stared at the surgeon. "You're not getting liability and you are not getting confidentiality. If you screw this up, I will scream it from the highest rooftop."

"House!" Chase shouted.

"I mean it. You're going to do this surgery as if your life depended on it. Hell, who knows? Maybe it does."

The surgeon looked around for his coat. "I don't have to listen to this."

"Please. Wait!" Foreman took him by the arm. "Let's sit down and talk about this."

The man calmed some, and was coaxed into a chair. He looked at House, and was met with the older man's electric glare. House leaned in. "No free passes. Do the surgery the way it should be done."

The surgeon shook his head and chuckled. "Why am I being lectured to by a diagnostician?"

"Because as a rule, surgeons are an insufferable bunch, and I wouldn't give ten cents for the best one in this hospital right now. But Dr. Wilson needs one, and the last thing he's getting is some prima donna who won't get his hands dirty."

"Hey, it's your call." The man grabbed his coat and threw it over his shoulder. "I can just go back to Mount Sinai and try and salvage the rest of my day."

"Aw geez, Ben. Come on. I told you about House. He's like this." Foreman said, trying to head him off.

"Knock it off, Foreman. The man has a job to go back to." House leaned back, his arms folded, and he became interested in picking at a piece of dried food on his shirt sleeve.

Before the surgeon got out of the room, House cleared his head and spoke, "Before you go, I want you to know that I see you for what you are."

His back stiffened and he turned.

House smirked. "Wilson's not getting second best. So come to the table prepared to risk everything or don't come at all. Just know that I see you."

He shook his head. "What in God's name do you mean?'

House sighed. "You're afraid to take a risk, really put your heart into this case. It's game day, and you come here acting like a plate of lukewarm leftovers. So I see you. And I won't forget this. When it got tough, when you were faced with the big case, you choked. It's good for us to know, and it's good for you to know as well."

"You're telling me I have no nerve?" The man stepped forward as if to threaten House.

Not moving an inch, House looked at him and nodded slowly, "Yeah."

"I'm outta here." He brushed past Chase who got up to stop him and then realized that there was nothing he could really do. The man pushed past him.

"One more thing," the man stopped at the door and turned to hear House have the last word. "I will always remember that you walked out on an opportunity to save a good man because you were afraid to test yourself. I will always know that, and you will know that I know that."

The man took a deep breath as if to speak, and then shook his head before disappearing out the door.

Cameron hit him in the shoulder in frustration. "What's wrong with you!"

House grimaced and rubbed his shoulder. "I'm not at all opposed to our relationship moving in this direction, but let's at least work out a safe word."

She moaned in frustration, and stalked off to the other end of the room. Foreman narrowed his eyes at House. "I thought Wilson was your friend." Without waiting for a response, he shook his head and left the room.

Chase took Cameron by the elbow and steered her out the door in front of him, leaving House alone. House waited until he knew they were gone, then he stabbed his cane into the floor, cursing loudly.

……………………………………………………………………………

Wilson couldn't separate one voice from another. Cameron, Chase, and Foreman were talking on top on one another at Cuddy who had come in for one last visit before they prepped. Cuddy shouted them down until she could make sense of it all. She pointed at Foreman, and let him tell the sad tale. As he was finishing, House came in quietly. He winced at the spectacle, found a chair in the corner, and slumped into it darkly.

Foreman finished and Cuddy turned to him, her mouth hanging open. She seemed unable to form words. She advanced on him, and he winced in anticipation of another physical assault from one of the women in his life. She stopped short and hissed at him, "If anything happens to him, I will never let you step foot in this hospital again. I don't care what you can do. Do you understand me?"

House blinked, but didn't even try to defend himself. He just sat there like a petulant child, unable to meet her eyes. A gloomy silence descended as they all stared at House. Then, with some effort, Wilson sat up, "Hey, everybody, let's all just relax a little."

Heads turned in his direction. He managed a grin. "Come on. If anyone should be pissed, it should be me."

Cameron shook her head. "Don't you understand what he did to you?'

Wilson gestured with his head at House. "Let's give him a chance to explain."

House craned his neck around Cuddy's angry form, and gave his friend a grateful nod.

Wilson's eyebrows shot up. "So! Explain already! You're the one that talked me into this damn thing in the first place."

Cuddy moved aside and all of them stood, arms folded, watching him. House took a deep breath. "It wasn't right."

Chase threw his arms up in the air. "Beautiful. I know I'm clear now."

House rolled his eyes, and Wilson looked away.

House looked at Cuddy. "You were serving Wilson up on a platter. No liability? A confidentiality agreement? This is experimental, and we gotta drag the guy into it. You can't convince me that he was going to put his heart into it."

"Who was trying to convince you? This was not about you." Foreman barked at him.

House leaned forward, his eyes shooting. "This is about Wilson, and I'm not going to let that idiot come in here with nothing at stake, and take a stab it."

"We can get him back," Cuddy listened and shook her head. "Give me his cell phone number. I'll talk to him."

"No."

She turned to find Wilson, his face gaunt with weight loss and pain. "I trust him. If House says this guy isn't right, then he isn't right."

"James," Cuddy began.

"No. I don't have control over much right now, but I have control over this. If House says it's not going to work, then I don't want him." Wilson turned to Foreman. "You have to find me someone else."

"Don't worry. He's still here." House whispered.

"How do you know?" Chase asked.

"Just call him. He's a surgeon. They're all competitive idiots. He is not going to let me get the last word."

Wilson screwed up his face. "Hold up. You just said he's not the right one."

House cocked his head. "He wasn't the right one when he didn't have something to prove."

Foreman blinked at him for a moment, and then began punching numbers into his phone. In a couple of seconds, he reached a voice so loud he had to pull the phone away from his ear. He pulled the phone back in as he headed for the door. "It's okay. Listen. No, I'll meet you in the cafeteria. Yes, he's definitely an ass. You want to sue? Great idea. I can promise you three good witnesses." His voice faded as he ran down the hall.

House looked at Cuddy, Cameron, and Chase. "Why are you standing here? He needs an ego massage and he doesn't need to see me again. Just don't give away the store."

Cuddy turned and headed for the door, Chase and Cameron trailing after her.

Wilson slid back down onto his pillow. "Jesus, House, what are you doing to me?"

"You always said I was nothing but trouble."

Wilson smiled. "So you owe me already. Get it right. Okay?'

House nodded and got up to leave. Wilson turned in his bed. "Greg, in case I don't…I thought..."

"Don't," House shook his head softly.

"I don't miss my brother when I'm with you." Wilson grasped his hand and squeezed. House stood there silently, blinking hard, his eyes growing soft and red.

Wilson nodded and swallowed hard. Then he took a breath and said, "You're such a faker. Get out of here so I can get a few minutes of rest before they shave my head." He let go of House and turned his head to the wall. House stared at him for a moment, unable to speak. Then he dropped his head and left the room.

…………………………………………………………………………………………..

The first half of the surgery went smoothly. House fussed at Foreman all the way to the door to the operating room. Foreman slipped in the door as quickly as possible. He was going to observe the surgery, and keep the surgeon focused.

They gathered in the theatre to observe the surgery. Cuddy compulsively chewed on her lip. Chase paced until House tripped him with his cane. He stumbled into a chair and stayed there. Cameron stood at the window like a kid at a toy store, her eyes never leaving the action. House stood next to her, leaning on his cane, the pain in his leg shooting up into his stomach. He didn't think to reach for a Vicodin.

Chase and Cameron left before the surgery hit the halfway mark. They were going to have to stabilize him, and get him ready for the second half of the surgery. House let them go. He was only going to get in the way, and he didn't think he could handle seeing an unconscious Wilson.

When the break finally came, House pushed away from the glass without a word to Cuddy and headed for the door. It was 2 a.m. and the hallways were empty. He thought about heading to his office, but there was an office next to it that he couldn't bear to pass. Slowly, he wandered into a waiting room. He headed for a couch along the wall, and dropped into it. He would close his eyes for a few minutes, and then go back to the theatre. He was starting to settle when he heard a voice.

"I know you're exhausted, but please tell me something before you rest."

His eyes popped open, and he saw her sitting in a chair opposite of him. She wore a scarf on her head, and her skin looked very pale. She was thin and tired, but the intensity of her dark eyes was not lost on him.

He sat up slowly. "I thought you were going to stay with your mother in San Juan."

She shrugged. "I had to stay and make sure that he was all right. He did so much for me."

House nodded. "It's a nice gesture, but you should go, be where your family needs you. You don't have much time."

She clasped her hands together tightly. "I just want to see him make it."

"Let me tell you a story," House began. "Wilson told me about this. Happened a few years ago. A woman came in with breast cancer. We'll call her…Kathy. She needed a complete mastectomy. She was young, and she got really depressed. Wilson was worried that she wouldn't survive. He had a brainstorm and put her in chemo with another woman named Stella. Now Stella was an old veteran of tumors. Hers had grown back three times. There was no doubt it was going to get her, but she was going to go down fighting. So Kathy started doing chemo next to Stella, and of course, Stella charmed her, and within a month, Kathy was looking at her cancer in a whole new way. She got very attached to Stella, and started driving here and home. After a few months, Stella got a bad report. Her tumor had metastasized everywhere. She only had about a month. Well, Stella was sad, but she knew the odds and had been preparing for this for somewhere around five years. Kathy really struggled. She stopped going in for treatment. Instead, she hung around with Stella. Stella talked to her. Wilson talked to her, but she was really depressed. When Stella died, Kathy stopped taking care of herself which is not good for a woman with no active immune system. She got pneumomia and then complications. She died six months later."

Conni looked down at the carpet for a long time. "You think that Wilson won't get better as long as I'm here."

House sighed. "I think Wilson didn't have a reason to go to Hawaii until you came into his life. And I do not think it's going to help his recovery if he watches you dying in front of him. I think the guilt of surviving is a very powerful thing."

She nodded, still unable to look at him.

"We'll take care of him. It's time for you to go and let your family take care of you."

Finally she looked up at him. "Let me get you some coffee. Maybe a yogurt?"

He frowned at her.

"A candy bar?" she ventured.

"Now you're talking. Can you shake me in an hour?"

He settled back onto the couch and watched her walk out of the room. The weight of her sadness descended on him, and he wondered if he should have told her how intimately he was feeling survivor's guilt this very minute.

…………………………………………………………………………………….

Chase and Cameron came back into the theatre a few minutes after the second part of the surgery began. They both looked like hell, and he dreaded asking them how it went. It was enough to know that he had a pulse and was back on the table. Cuddy dragged a chair in and pushed it under him without a word. He dropped into it, but his eyes never left his best friend.

The surgery was getting dicey, and the anesthesiologist was making noises about dropping blood pressure. The surgeon wanted to stop, but Foreman went face to face with him for a few minutes, and sent him back at Wilson.

House started murmuring encouragement under his breath like he was at a little league game. Cameron came up behind and put her hands on his shoulder, and didn't move them when he tried to shrug them off. Instead she held on, gently massaging the back of his neck, and whispering positive thoughts.

Half an hour later, the surgeon was closing. Wilson had hung on, but his vitals stunk, and it was clear that the next 24 hours was going to make or break the success of the surgery.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: I finished my finals. YEAH! So I found time for a quick chapter. Please read all the way through before throwing things at the computer screen. Okay?

In other news, I saw Brokeback Mountain today. It was such an amazing movie. Who knew Heath Ledger would steal the movie? It was hard to come back here and not write Brokeback Hospital in this chapter. Maybe a little bit found its way in.

Your feedback is tremendous and it feeds me. Thanks for taking the time.

Sheila

**Heart Cancer**

**Chapter 14**

House felt someone shaking him. He focused on the face, and made out the shape of Lisa Cuddy. She didn't look right. He could see it right away, and his stomach dropped. She tried to find words, but her quivering mouth wouldn't cooperate. House pulled himself up, and pushed past her. Pain shot up his leg, but he didn't stop for his cane.

Chase's face appeared, and he was talking, but House wouldn't stop to listen. He pushed through the door to the recovery room, and found a red-eyed Cameron leaning over James Wilson. She was telling him how sorry they all were. Foreman was marking his chart, sighing and shaking his head as he wrote. House gripped the edge of the bed, and looked at Wilson's face. It was him just as he always knew him, but his color was fading; a grayness had emerged, taking with it the once vibrant color of a life.

Foreman began to outline all the measures they had taken to try and save him. House shook his head and turned to them. "Out! Get out."

Foreman wrapped an arm around Cameron's shoulders protectively and steered her toward the door. House didn't bother to respond to the glare Foreman pointed his direction.

House waited until the door shut behind them. The pain in his leg was too much, and he slumped into a chair beside the bed. For a moment, he could do nothing more than stare at the floor and try to compose himself. He swallowed hard and spoke, "I should be sorry, but I'm not. You were right and I was wrong, but I'm not sorry. This was truly the only option left, and I would do it again with the same odds."

House stopped and worked at fighting the emotions in his face. He settled for a painful grimace. "I don't know what I am going to do with this. I never allowed myself to imagine the possibility."

He rubbed at his eyes. "Dammit,Wilson! Dammit!"

"What am I going to do without the one person in my life who accepts me for who I am? Hell, life is lonely enough as it is."

He pulled himself to his feet, ignoring the deep ache in his thigh. He brushed his hand against Wilson's forehead, and felt how the skin had become dry and cool. Wilson looked so tired, and worn; there was none of the peace House hoped to find in his features. The bandage on his head reminded him of the book cover of an old copy of The Red Badge of Courage, and a vision of Wilson as a soldier emerged.

Carefuly, he pulled the blanket up from where it was gathered about his waist. The chill of the sterile room and Wilson's cooling body was too much for him, and he absently tucked the blanket under Wilson's chin. He laid his palm on James' cheek.

"So I think I'm going to be angry with you. It's my new plan. It's best to stick with emotions I'm used to. I'm going to tell them that you should have tried harder; I'm going to say that running off to Hawaii was the dumbest thing you could have done. I imagine that will raise the hair on the back of Cuddy's neck. I don't care though. I don't think I could stand their sympathy right now. You'll understand though, you always do. You'll disapprove, of course, but you'll understand."

House collapsed back into his chair, and dropped his head into his hands. It took a few minutes before he could speak again. "Mostly, I'm going to be angry that you left me. Isn't that pathetic? There's no one to keep me out of trouble, no one to talk to, and I'm going to have to blame you, and the cancer that stole you from me."

He raised an eyebrow, unable to resist one last quip. "One of the consequences of this plan is that Cameron will probably hit me again. She's gotten a taste of how satisfying it can be to let out all of that pent-up frustration, and I can only imagine that it will get more violent from here on in."

Then Wilson reached out and shook his shoulder, and House shouted.

"Hey! Hey! House, wake up. It's me, Cameron. You were having a nightmare."

House shrank back, eyes wide, breathing hard.

"You dreamt that Wilson died, but its okay, he's still with us."

"What!" House blinked.

She sat down on the couch next to him. "You were exhausted. The nightmares took over."

House swallowed. "He's alive."

She sighed and nodded. "His vitals are not good, but he's with us. Chase is sitting with him."

He looked around for his cane. "I shouldn't be sleeping. How long have I been out?"

She looked up at the wall clock wearily. "6 hours maybe."

He regarded her with blurry eyes. "You haven't slept at all."

"Foreman is sleeping now. Chase needs back-up. I'll sleep this afternoon."

He put an arm on her shoulder. "You'll sleep now. Here's the key to Wilson's office. I'll back up Chase."

She looked at him. "Are you sure?"

He nodded.

She started to get up, and then stopped. "You really think I enjoy hitting you?"

He blushed a little at the thought of all that she might have heard. "You wouldn't be the first to act on that impulse."

She looked down. "I probably am, but I shouldn't. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize." He pressed the keys into her hand. "Go."

She got up, looking as if she wanted to say something more, but shook her head and walked away.

House let out a deep breath. Emotions were sitting on the surface, and it was getting hard to control them. He struggled with his stiff leg to get upright, digging into his pocket for a couple of Vicodin.

He found Chase sitting next to the bed, looking exhausted. He came in quietly and nodded at Chase. Then he looked at his friend. This Wilson did not look like someone from a civil war novel. He was pale, but definitely alive.

"Vandalous out of the New England Journal of Medicine recommends adding increasing amounts of IV fluids in the first nine hours. He's tolerating it well. His blood pressure should be stabilizing by now though so I'm a little concerned about that." Chase sat up straight, his tie loose and stubble showing on his chin.

House nodded. "Get some sleep. I'll sit with him now."

Chase raised his brows. "Okay? But I can make it a few more hours. This is a critical time. I can just—'

House put a hand up. "Really. It's okay. The couch in the waiting room is only 100 yards from here. Believe me. You'll know it if I need you."

Chase got up, blonde hair in his face, and stumbled out to the waiting room. House waited until the door closed. Then he reached out and rubbed Wilson's shoulder. "You gave me quite a scare there, my friend. So the joke's over, okay? It's time to start getting those vitals up."

Wilson didn't move, but House didn't mind. He was alive, and if there was a way in this world, House would make sure he stayed that way.

"Feeling a little beat up? I bet you are. They really spent a good bit of time inside your head. I saw the tumor. Size of a grapefruit. Swear to God. The surgeon did a good job. He's still not worth a pile of crap, but he knows his way around an operating room. Don't worry. I was contrite. Apologized for my behavior and everything. He was feeling pretty righteous by the time he left, but it was worth it."

House stopped to check his pulse. "Not bad, James. But let's get it moving a little faster, alright?"

He grabbed the chair and turned it so it faced Wilson. He sat down. "So I figure you could use a little entertainment. We still have a couple of hours before All My Children, but that's okay 'cause Maury has "Who's my baby daddy?" and there's a Jerry Springer rerun after that."

He reached for the remote and flipped on the television hanging off the wall. "Here's the deal. I want that pulse rate to go up two beats by the time Maury's over, and I want a spike in that blood pressure by the time "All My Children" starts. You don't follow through, and I'm going to shut off the TV, and spend the rest of the afternoon going through your marriages and reminding you of all the times I told you so. Deal?"

He sat back in the chair and swung his feet up on the bed. He began a running commentary on Maury, building a pretty good system of prediction of whose baby was whose. He kept his hand on Wilson's wrist, and took a breath only to count beats. After awhile, he slipped his hand into Wilson's and squeezed. Then he cleared his throat loudly. As he-men, of course, we will never speak of this. You just need a little reminder that we're out here waiting for you."

House kept his hand in Wilson's, and returned his attention to the screen. "Look at that. None of those sleazebags fathered her child. I can tell without even seeing the baby. Look at the blank looks on their faces. I mean, really."

………………………………………………………………………..

Foreman stood at the door looking in. Cuddy came up behind him. "He doesn't want a break yet?"

"Nope. He's been in there for hours."

"Maybe I'll just go in and sit with them."

Foreman arched a brow. "He'll just glare at you. He's holding Wilson's hand, and is just waiting for someone to say something about it."

She tried to suppress a smile. "I'll take a chance, Eric, but thanks."

She slipped into the room, and came up behind House. "How's he doing?"

House looked up, startled. "He's taking his time."

She nodded, looking over his shoulder at Wilson. "He should be awake by now, you know."

"He'll get there."

"Yeah," she put a hand on his shoulder. "You could use a break. Something to eat?"

"Not yet. Just want to give him another couple of hours." House shifted in his chair.

Cuddy swallowed. "Remember when he got his own department. He worked 14 hours a day. He was certain someone was going to snatch it away from him."

"It ended his second marriage."

She nodded. "That and the affair with the nurse who ended up as Mrs. Wilson number 3. Hard to believe that a guy this sincere has gone through that many marriages."

"Yeah. Well, he's got you all fooled. My boy here is a real scoundrel." House smiled softly.

"Foreman's worried that he's not going to wake up. He doesn't wake up in the next 8 hours, and we're going to have to do an MRI."

"He just needs us to have a little patience."

"I can sit with him for awhile."

House shook his head. "We have the Thursday night line-up on NBC. It's an unforgettable ER. Can't miss it, Cuddy. What can I say?"

She nodded. "I'll bring you a sandwich."

"And some beer. Newcastle is Wilson's favorite."

She shook her head and squeezed his shoulder before she left. House leaned forward to Wilson after the door closed. "Did you see that blouse she wore? She wants me, Jimmy. She wants me."

…………………………………………………………………………………..

House heard someone calling his name and he woke up to find the lights dimmed. He was still leaning against the bed, his head on Wilson's arm. He sat up and looked around. The TV was off so people had been in the room. He looked around for the wall clock and found it reading 2:00. It was clearly the middle of the night, and he had trouble orienting himself.

He was still clasping Wilson's hand tightly, and so he reached over with the other one, and took a pulse. A smile grew as the beats came strong through his veins.

"House."

He blinked, and turned.

Wilson smiled up at him, and then looked at his hand in House's. "Does this mean we're going steady?"

House grinned. "No way. You're a heartbreaker. I'd never recover."

"I made it."

"They got it all too. You should have seen them. Everyone was brilliant."

"God, I'm glad that's over."

House stretched out his legs. "I'm going to need double the dose for the next couple of days. Better get ready to write me a new script. You got me all cramped up with your little drama."

Wilson nodded. "You should go home and rest. I'm fine."

House winced as he unwound his cramped hand from Wilson's. "Jeez, you got a grip. Feels like I was glued to you."

Wilson managed something akin to a chuckle. "Get out of here. You look like hell, and you need a shower."

House stood with some difficulty. "I'll get someone to check on you."

Wilson closed his eyes and House waited. It wasn't until he could detect the movement of oxygen lifting his friend's chest that he was able to leave the room.

……………………………………………………………………………………..

Foreman had stuffed him in a cab rather unceremoniously before going into to check on Wilson. House found himself at home with a tumbler of scotch seated in his leather armchair, unable to contemplate a return to slumber. It had been five days since he had boarded a plane to Hawaii. He probably didn't sleep more than fifteen hours that entire time, and yet he was wide awake.

The events of the last week played themselves over and over in his head. He swallowed three Vicodin and took a big swig of scotch. Then he leaned his head back and waited for it all to take effect.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, tears started to roll down his cheeks. A man alone in his house can sometimes let himself feel exactly what he is feeling. He didn't wipe at them. Rather, he picked up the remote, punched in a soft jazz station, and settled back into the deep, brown leather, letting his body release the grief he packed inside.

………………………………………………………………………………….

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: Happy New Year everyone! I am sorry I am so late with this. This is the final chapter. I really found that I was confused as to what to do with this story. Really! I struggled! I didn't even ignore the story. I just struggled. So it is clear that I am done. There is no riding into the sunset in this story. I hope that's okay. Thank you. Thank you. And thank you again for reading this with me. I have really enjoyed meeting you all!

Thanks

Sheila

Heart Cancer

Chapter 15

He found her standing against the wall across from his office. She was leaning as if it was more than a mere convenience. House let out a sigh and walked toward her, holding out an arm. She took it gratefully and let him lead her to a chair in his office.

"Consuela," he started gently.

She put a hand up. "Save it. There's a cab outside. I'm on my way to the airport. I just want to know if he's okay."

House nodded. "He woke up last night. I called before I came in; his vitals are strong. I was just going to head down to see him. Do you want to come?"

She shook her head. "I just want to know he's fine before I go."

"I'm sure he would like to see you."

She looked at the wall behind him. "No. He should focus on the direction he's going; I have to focus on where I'm going."

House looked down. "I'm sorry, Consuela. It's a tough journey."

She bit her lower lip. "I think I'm coming to grips with it in a way. Feeling like this is no way to live."

House walked around the desk, and pulled a stethoscope out of a drawer. "Let me take one more listen. I might be able to give you something for the plane."

"Always trying to get into my shirt. You should be ashamed. You're his best friend."

He chuckled and warmed the scope before placing it on her back. He asked her to breathe in and out as best she could. Her breathe was shallow and labored. "The pain?"

She shrugged. "I have three months of medication with me. Other than that, I'm on my own."

House grabbed a pad off his desk and began to scribble. "Get these. It'll help."

She took the scrip from him and leaned heavily against the desk as she pulled herself upright. She grinned at him grimly and headed for the door.

"Conni," he said.

"The cab is waiting. Sorry." She left slowly, and he considered helping her down to the lobby, but he suspected that neither one of them would have found it a comfortable walk.

………………………………………………………………………………..

Dr. James Wilson recovered at a remarkable rate. He was out of the hospital within a week. House held off on the MRI as long as possible. He needed to let Wilson heal, and early tests were not a good indicator of long term results.

Thin and ghostly pale, Wilson sat home in front of his big screen and watched 12 hours of ESPN a day. He was beginning to relate to Chris Kirkpatrick in an alarmingly personal way. Uninvited guests showed up on a daily basis. Foreman and Chase showed up one night with pizza and beer, and the three of them could find nothing more palatable than Western collegiate girl's softball. These visits tended to be fairly solemn affairs. Wilson was pleasant enough, but the dark circles under his eyes and the struggles of the last two months hung over him like a fog. He watched the TV, but everyone could see the distracted look on his face. Eventually his pretense of mood would die and the conversation drift off. Wilson would mention feeling tired, and his friends would be gone in minutes.

House showed up without fail once a day. He brought magazines and takeout food, keeping up a steady chatter of his complaints and crimes. It was victory any time he was able to coax a smile out of Wilson.

The day they did the MRI, everyone gathered in House's office to wait. Cuddy paced like a first time father outside the delivery room. House walked in with no pretense; a rare wide smile spread across his thin features. Everyone was smiles and good cheer, and for a moment, House imagined that Wilson was as good as new.

He had been home about three weeks when he and House had the big fight. It started out well. Wilson was feeling better; he'd been out for a walk and was even chuckling at House's stories. Then he told House he had come to a decision. He was feeling up to going down to Puerto Rico; he wanted to spend time with Conni before she was gone. House couldn't contain his impatience. Perfunctorily, he told Wilson that it wasn't possible. Wilson asked if he wanted to come with; together they could make her last days comfortable. House snorted and told him that there wasn't anything they could do to make a difference for her.

Wilson persisted. He was feeling restless; useless. She had been there for him, and he wanted to do the same for her. House dropped his head into his hands. Finally he lifted it, and said, "There is no way. I haven't followed you through this entire ordeal to have you take off again while you're still recovering."

"I can't do nothing!"

House stood up. "Do you really think she wants to see you? If she's even alive, my guess is that she is not interested in seeing anyone. You think she'd love to see you? The disappointment? Shock? The pity on your face?"

Wilson rolled his eyes. "I'm an oncologist! I wouldn't show those things."

"You're a man, Wilson. You care about her. You would show everything. Leave her alone. Let her be with her family."

"I want to help."

House threw his arms up. "Why? Because you can? Because you can offer her something no one else can? Or is it because it's the only thing you know how to do? She doesn't need your help. She needs peace!"

Wilson stared at him, eyes narrowed. "The only thing I know how to do? What does that mean?"

House looked away. "Nothing. It's not important. James, it's time to wake up and be grateful you're alive."

"Like you do every day." Wilson frowned at him.

"I was a pain in the ass before the infarction. You think a bad leg was going to clear that up? Please do not get this confused. We are definitely talking about you right now."

"I'm tired."

"And you're depressed and you feel lost or something; I don't know. All you do is sit there and smile and tell everyone you can't wait to get back to work. This is not you."

"Maybe I'm just a boring guy who can't wait to get back to work."

"Well, I think you're a guy who has had a lot of time to think."

"I'm supposed to know what you're talking about."

"I don't know. If I had to guess, I would say you've been taking a good, hard look at your life, and you don't like what you see."

Wilson screwed up his face. "What's wrong with you? You can't just let me recover from cancer? You gotta find something new to complain about? Jeez, you really know how to wear a guy out. All I want to do is help a friend."

"Listen—" House began.

"No, not interested. Not today. It's time for you to go." Wilson started herding him toward the door.

"You're not going to Puerto Rico," House yelled before the door was slammed in his face.

……………………………………………………………………………………….

James Wilson didn't go to Puerto Rico. He stayed home, and let his body heal. Immediately after his fight with House, he stopped encouraging visitors; ignoring phone calls and the persistent knocking at his door.

Two weeks later, he returned to work. He felt like a different man, and knew he looked like one as well. His features were sharper, and a new head of hair included the first sprinkling of white hairs. He knew he was too thin, but he was still unable to find the appetite to eat the extra calories.

House kept his distance and Wilson was glad. House wasn't good at superficial conversation, and Wilson had no interest in rehashing the details of their last encounter. He focused all his attention on his department; working late into the evening most days.

He was deep into reviewing charts one evening when a shadow passed over the file in his hand. He looked up to find Cameron standing there. He nodded politely and greeted her.

She shifted uncomfortably.

"So, Allison, what can I do for you?"

She took this as an invitation and sat in a chair across from him. He suppressed a twinge of annoyance. Cameron appeared to be staying for awhile.

"Well, I just wanted to see how you are."

"I'm okay."

"We miss you."

He looked around his office and shrugged. "I'm not that hard to find, actually."

"House is worse than usual."

"And he's not being held pending bail? How is that possible?"

"He's actually not precipitating any lawsuits right now. In fact, he isn't insulting anyone. Cuddy was wearing one of those ridiculously low cut ruffled blouses she likes, and he spent at least an hour in the same room, and said absolutely nothing about it. Foreman wants to do a neurological work up on him, and Chase wants the church to investigate for a miracle."

Wilson leaned back in his chair, his hands interlaced behind his neck. "Sounds like a dream come true to me."

"He is also not taking any risks with patients, and, in fact, brings very little to the table at all diagnostically. He seems…dull right now. Not stupid, of course. But there are no sharp edges."

Wilson narrowed his eyes. "He's pouting."

"He misses you."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic. He gets this way every couple of years with me or without me. He needs a few months of Wellbutrin, and then he'll be back to his nasty self."

"Why are you mad at him?"

"I'm not mad."

"What do you mean? The two of you are usually as thick as thieves."

"I'm taking a little House vacation. He can really be a piece of work, you know."

"Well," she said, looking at the poster over his left shoulder, "he misses you, and it's affecting his work." She leaned forward. "I wouldn't be here if I wasn't worried. The idea of losing you has weighed heavily on him for months now. He doesn't sleep well; his clothes hang on him more loosely than I have ever seen. He's lost some of his fight. I think he's tired; he's spent the last six months caring for you. And you got better, but now you're fighting with him. I think he's depressed."

Wilson looked down at his desk. "He can never be satisfied. Sometimes, it's too much. I can't just be physically healthy, now I gotta completely rethink my life; like I'm the one who's screwed up his life."

She cocked her head. "I don't really know what you're talking about."

Wilson let out a deep breath and shrugged. "Never mind. He just hit a nerve is all."

"So you think you're going to get back from this House vacation anytime soon?"

Wilson smiled. "Give me a couple of days. I'll think about it."

Cameron got up to leave.

"You know, Allison, he's really lucky to have you watching out for him. He doesn't act like it, but he does see you."

Cameron looked down for a moment and then smiled. "Thanks."

……………………………………………………………………………………

House poured another scotch. He sat back in his chair and turned the volume up on the big screen. The Nets looked almost life size running up and down the court chased by the Cleveland Cavaliers. He glanced over at the coffee table at the half eaten pepperoni thin crust, but decided he couldn't reach it without getting out of his chair and his thigh was throbbing from a long day at the hospital.

The Nets were 0-12 for the last ten minutes, and an upset seemed imminent. House dreaded the ending no matter who won. It was still hours before he would find sleep, and he wasn't sure how he would entertain himself next.

The doorbell rang, and he dropped his head back and groaned. He waited, and started to relax when he heard nothing more. At this time of night, it was probably some kid playing games. He grabbed the remote and turned up the volume again. the doorbell rang again, this time a more insistent series of rings. House cursed and pushed himself upright, grabbing for his cane.

Wilson was leaning against the stoop when House opened the door. House cocked his head and gestured inside. Wilson nodded and walked past him into the house. Without a word, he headed to the liquor cabinet and pulled out the expensive whiskey. He poured himself three fingers, and carried the bottle with him to the couch.

House sighed and returned to his chair. "Did they call?"

Wilson nodded and took a long sip of his drink. "She passed away yesterday morning. Marta called."

House picked up his scotch and followed Wilson's lead. "I kept you from going. You got something to say?"

Wilson shook his head. "I could have gone. I just figured you were right."

House slowly twirled his highball glass with his long fingers and waited.

"It really wouldn't have mattered," Wilson continued, "She was unconscious for most of the last month. She would never have known I was there."

Another silence descended. House reached over and turned down the sounds coming from the TV. Wilson swallowed hard and stared into his drink.

House chewed on his lip for a moment before saying, "And you lived."

Wilson closed his eyes and leaned back into the couch. House hit mute, and for a few minutes there was only the sound of the clock on the wall.

"I hate it when you play Freud."

House shrugged.

Wilson saw him and chuckled, "Yeah. Well, you were right. I did feel guilty for living. I did feel like she had more stake in this world with those three beautiful kids. And I did feel like I've done very little in my life other than a successful medical practice and a penchant for alienating nice women."

"Yeah, but the professional part is no small thing. You make a difference, dawg."

Wilson nodded, smirking at his reference. "And I resented hearing it from you. I am healthy one in this relationship. You're the one too miserable for words."

"Sorry, I messed with our formula." House let a grin tug at the edges of his mouth.

"Apology accepted," Wilson murmured before taking another long drink.

"She really broke your heart, didn't she?"

Wilson snorted. "They all do, Greg. What can I say?"

"She was a good woman. Who knows? If things had been different…"

"I would have screwed it up."

"Maybe not. Odds are you got get it right one of these times. There is a learning curve, you know."

Wilson smiled and reached for the bottle again. "I wouldn't count on it. I'm thinking with the track record the two of us have, we should probably just stay bachelors."

"Sounds like a plan. We'll watch games every night and drink like sailors."

Wilson cocked his head. "Yeah, but I really dig kids. I am discovering this. Maybe we should get some kids. A couple of boys, maybe a girl… They'd have the Wilson name. House isn't really a name; it's a thing, a domicile, you know."

House raised an eyebrow. "Would these children be our servants?"

His head was back laughing, and House couldn't help but join in. Wilson reached for the congealed pizza and took a slice. "I do know that I want my life to have meaning outside the hospital. I need that."

House rolled his electric eyes. "For me, the only meaning in life I need is encased in whichever television screen I have in front of me at the time."

Wilson looked around for something to wipe the pizza grease on. "Okay, so the balance of the universe is in place again with me being a fairly decent person, and you being a moral vegetable."

"Yeah, it really does feel like the universe is right again." House settled back into his chair and poured another scotch.

"So I have signed us up for a little something on Wednesday nights," Wilson said casually, careful not to meet House's eyes.

House winced. "I'm pretty sure I don't want to be part of your project."

"We're going to do health checks at the Salvation Army from 8 p.m. to midnight."

"You might be doing that, but I'll be busy not doing that on Wednesdays. Sorry."

Wilson leaned forward. "Come on. Just think. No charting. You can say what you want. We'll steal supplies from the hospital. Cuddy will freak when the antibiotics start disappearing. We'll be like Robin Hood. It'll be fun."

"And if you do your part for the homeless people of Princeton, then maybe karma will protect your brother wherever he is."

"Maybe."

"And does this somehow help you get over Conni?"

Wilson shrugged.

"But whatever your motives, you would like your misanthropic friend to participate with you?"

"We'll go out for pizza and beer afterward."

House chuckled. "If our only other alternative is adopting kids, then I think I'll go with this."

Wilson grinned. He picked up the rest of the cold pizza and shoved it toward him. House reached over and grabbed a piece. "Turn up the damn game." He pointed a remote at the big screen and the two of them settled in as the Nets fought to make up four points they were down.

The End


End file.
